


Songfell

by Ikustioa



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 09:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 193,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23348839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ikustioa/pseuds/Ikustioa
Summary: Humans have captured and imprisoned a boss monster in the form of a giant skeleton. Can his mortal enemy, the High Priestess of the realm, convince him to learn from her and forge a bond between their feuding races?
Relationships: Frisk/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 568
Kudos: 674





	1. The High Priestess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostmypotatoes](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lostmypotatoes).
  * Inspired by [Witchfell](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/573790) by lostmypotatoes. 



> Hello! Please check out the excellent comic that started all this and made me think of how the story could go from where it left off. This started on Tumblr and is being updated as allowed by the quarantine and my kid being very, very easy to entertain (IT'S OKAY IF THE SCREENS ARE EDUCATIONAL). Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome! This chapter’s first half is now available as a dramatic reading on [YouTube](%E2%80%9C)! It’s amazing, so check it out, and preferably subscribe!
> 
> If you just want some illustrated goodness, we’ve got [that](%E2%80%9C), too! Thanks, guys!

"Make way! The High Priestess approaches!"

The monster sat up in his prison cell, focusing on a slim figure coming down the stairs. In the room's single witchlight, he could make out a few details: a black gown with a narrow skirt that flared over the stone floor, a spiked headdress, and a long, dark veil over her features. The orange pinpricks of his eyes narrowed.

The guards stood at attention as the priestess approached the cell, her head high and her hands demurely folded. "Make haste, men!" barked the captain. "Secure the creature! Tighten those bonds!"

She stopped just short of the bars as the guards made a show of pulling levers on either side of the cell, stretching the chains tighter on the monster's limbs. "How long has he been here?" she asked.

"Three days, my lady," the captain said, "but he has refused all of his meals."

The priestess looked steadily at the captive monster. "Does he have a name?"

"He calls himself 'Sans,' my lady," the captain replied.

The High Priestess' headdress tilted to one side. "You know, Captain, wood and iron bars cannot hold a boss monster," she said quietly.

The men jumped as the monster snorted—as much as a skeleton could do so. "Funny, I told 'em the same t'ing," he said, his voice rough and painfully loud in the tiny space.

The captain gripped his sword hilt with one hand. "Silence, monster!" he snapped.

"No, let him speak," said the priestess.

Sans grinned wider, baring huge, jagged teeth. Though he remained sitting, he towered over the humans on the other side of the bars, especially the young woman. "How generous of you, witch," he said mockingly. "Tell me, how may I repay your kindness? Let you take my SOUL? Harvest my magic? Or add me to yer evil little collection?"

The guards muttered to each other in dismay. "How dare you speak to her with such disrespect?" demanded their captain. "She is the High Priestess of this realm, and you will address her as such!"

"Wow, what a loyal dog. You heard 'er, I get to talk," retorted the skeleton. He glared down at the priestess, ignoring the captain's sputtering. "Now, witch. Tell me. What are ya gonna do t'me? I ain't very fond of surprises. My heart can't take it." He placed his bony palm on his chest. "Grant me this one kindness, ya magic thief."

The High Priestess did not move. "Captain. Free him."

Sans lifted the equivalent of an eyebrow as the men gasped. "High Priestess," protested the captain.

"Release the bonds," she said.

The captain swallowed. "Is this a wise—"

"Free him, now." The woman's hands dropped to her sides as the guards reluctantly pushed the levers back up. "Sans, I'd like to make you my apprentice," she told the bemused skeleton. "In return, I will give you your freedom."

Stunned silence hung in the air. "You want me to be your apprentice?" the monster repeated. He looked at her, and he threw his head back and roared with laughter.

The captain bristled, moving in front of the woman with his sword drawn, then stepping back at her murmured command. The other men winced as the monster's laughter echoed off the walls. "Stars! That is rich!" Sans slapped his thighbone. "Ya know," he said, more conversationally, "I'd be less offended if ya dragged me out an' forced me to be yer slave."

Suddenly, his grin had no humor in it. The priestess tensed as the monster reached up to grasp his collar. "Do ya think I'm stupid? Me as your apprentice, witch? Please, don't fool yerself with your own lies!" The collar shattered, crumbling to dust. He gave another laugh, eyes glowing a hellish orange. "But I guess I should thank you for the opportunity," he said savagely. "'Cause now I'm going to—"

The air around him exploded in white-hot flame as the monster's voice rose to a bellow of _"KILL YOU ALL!"_

~

Power raced through the skeleton in scintillating waves, lighting the cell as bright as a hot day. Now Sans could do what he'd dreamed of since that first human sorcerer had caught him unawares: murder everyone in his path. There were so many possibilities! Fire was fun, but usually worked too fast. He could always tear them limb from limb, but that was messy and labor-intensive. Then there was blue magic, which turned them into stupid, flailing rag dolls, easy to pick up and impossible to put d—

A twinge of suspicion interrupted his musings. Where was the screaming, or the sound of fleeing footsteps? Sans lowered his aura until he could see the room clearly, and what he saw chilled him to his very SOUL.

His attack hadn't killed anyone. It hadn't even singed them. The cell's bars had disintegrated, but now a translucent golden haze stretched from floor to ceiling, and his magic was splashing off it like raindrops off an umbrella. The guardsmen were bravely huddled by the stairs, slack-jawed but unharmed, while the High Priestess stood right where she'd been, hand raised and lips moving.

Sans was not quite so confident now. In fact, his first impulse was to run away screaming. This was the stuff a monster's nightmares were made of: he was trapped by a barrier.

Once upon a time, he'd tormented his brother with stories about a bad little skeleton who went out alone after dark, or talked to strangers, or didn't do his big brother's chores for him, and it always ended with the bad skeleton getting caught by a human. All monsters heard those bedtime stories and learned that there was no escape from barriers; not even the King was strong enough to break one, and just touching them would kill you. If you were lucky, the human would drag you off to be their slave, never to be seen again. If you weren't, they'd squeeze the magic from your body or snap your ribs open to dig your SOUL out, then leave you to die and let your dust blow away.

Panic closed over him like a shroud. He gathered all of his magic and threw himself into a shortcut out of the castle, only to strike an invisible wall and bounce right back into the cell. Shaking his head to clear it, Sans looked around and realized that the barrier had him boxed in on all sides.

Anger saved him, as it always had. In another moment, he wasn't afraid anymore; he was furious at his captors and their whole cheating, thieving, murdering, thoroughly worthless race.

And it was the worst possible moment for the priestess to open a small hole in the barrier and say, "Sans, please calm yourself. I don't want to hurt you."

She snapped the barrier shut half a second before a wickedly pointed bone thudded into it, the tip nearly touching her nose. "So be it," the young woman said tightly, and the bone evaporated as the barrier glowed brighter.

Sans knew better than to waste his energy in an all-out assault. Instead, the boss monster contemplated the force it'd take to punch through one small area around her neck or her heart. He might still be afraid, but every fiber of his being wanted that woman dead on the floor. So...

With a flick of his wrist, he summoned an array of massive, razor-sharp bones, almost too many for the cell to hold, and began firing them at blinding speed, one right after another. The priestess didn't react, but as he struck the same few inches of barrier over and over again, he saw bits of gold flake away, revealing a tiny crack.

He smirked, focusing his magic to hit harder and faster. So much for scary stories. Her people might have been glorifying her as some kind of mighty sorceress, but she was just another stupid human, witch or not. She'd raised her other hand to reinforce the spell, but more and more cracks were forming. _You're boned_ , he thought, chuckling to himself.

Still, as he watched and waited for the golden light to shatter, he had to feel some grudging admiration. Most of the magic-wielding humans he'd killed were big, blustery men, and none of them had lasted half as long as this scrawny female. What kind of SOUL did the witch have, anyway? He'd seen just about every color there was, and figured she was stubborn enough to be purple, or maybe a patient cyan, or even orange for bravery. After all, he was throwing out everything he had, and she wasn't backing down. The skeleton squinted at her through the barrier, searching for the telltale spark of—ah, there it was. There...it...was.

For the second time, Sans looked at her and knew instantly that _he_ was boned. Despite the ferocity of his attacks, the cracks in the barrier were starting to fill themselves in, and the air crackled with another surge of her magic. A merry little chorus of _Shiiiiit shit shit shit_ rang in his head as he stared at her blazing-red SOUL, and it only got louder when he remembered what that color meant.  
****

**Determination.**

It didn't matter that she was just a human. His desire to kill her was nothing compared to her will to live. As the bones he conjured came slower and weaker, dissolving as they hit the barrier, Sans knew with horrible certainty that he wasn't going to win.

The stories had to be true after all. Unless the priestess got careless and he could either kill her or use a shortcut, he was going to have to do whatever she wanted for as long as she said. But maybe, if he caught her off guard...

Sans let his arm drop. The last few bones clattered to the floor, and he sank to his knees, head bowed. Behind the High Priestess, the men all breathed a sigh of relief.

To her credit, the woman didn't let the spell go. She poked her head through for a better look at him, motioned to the guards to stay where they were, and knelt in front of the massive skeleton, halfway inside the barrier. "I'm not surprised that you wanted to escape. I can almost excuse you for trying," she said. Her voice was calm enough, and as far as he could tell with her veil on, her face was still expressionless.

He would have bought it if he hadn't noticed her hands clenching in her lap. "Almost?" the skeleton asked, head still lowered, eyes fixed on her.

"Almost."

He shrugged, watching her knuckles turn white. "Guess that's why yer the High Priestess, huh?"

"It is. None of my magic is stolen," she said.

"'Course not. Our power's no good in barriers. We ain't that stubborn, or that dumb," he added bitterly.

"My offer stands," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "Do you have any questions or conditions you'd like to propose?"

Sans glanced at her headdress. The spikes atop it dipped in and out of the golden curtain as her head drooped. She had to have expended most of her power holding him off; after several days with no food or sleep and then wasting all that effort on the barrier, he was pretty worn out himself. Too bad monsters couldn't take a human's magic, just her...

Her SOUL. It took all his self-control not to jump to his feet in excitement. Why the hell hadn't he thought of that? An ordinary monster who absorbed an ordinary human SOUL was supposed to grow incredibly powerful. What would happen if a boss monster gained all the power of a gifted and highly determined witch?

The High Priestess shook herself and sat up straighter. "Please answer me, Sans. I don't think either of us wants to go through that again."

"No," he admitted, shifting his weight back, edging toward the wall. Sure enough, she unconsciously moved closer, a few more inches into the cell. "I do have one question," he said, moving back again.

The woman frowned, scooting almost all the way out of the barrier. "What is it?"

He slowly, delicately reached down and tapped on her headdress, gentle as a light breeze. "Mind if I get a better look at ya?"

The priestess started. For the first time, she seemed uncertain. "I..." She frowned, and as she opened her mouth again, Sans lunged at her.

There was no question of her ducking behind the barrier in time. Before she even knew that he'd moved, one of the skeleton's hands had closed around her torso and lifted her as easily as a child holding a doll. The barrier vanished behind her, and Sans said casually, "Heel, or I'll stomp 'er like a grape."

The guards froze in the act of drawing their swords. The priestess started to say something, but he flexed his hand ever so slightly, and she stopped.

Sans smiled. He considered her for a moment, wondering if he should crush her anyway and squeeze her out slowly in front of the guardsmen, the way humans drained a monster's magic. It was tempting, and would be kind of poetic, but he decided he'd better not; he didn't want to damage her SOUL. Besides, she'd put up a hell of a fight. If anyone deserved a quick death, it was—

"Sans," she said. To his astonishment, she worked her arm out over his fingers and rested her hand on his knuckle. "Please," she murmured.

Normally, he would have laughed at a human begging him for mercy, but this didn't feel like begging. She was just looking at him calmly.

...No, the crazy bitch wasn't asking, she was telling. She was distressed, but expectant, as if she was just waiting for him to put her down and apologize!

He should've squished her or bashed her against the wall for that. But, somehow, as the veiled priestess stared into the fire of his eye sockets, the idea of breaking her didn't seem much fun anymore. Her head lowered and tipped to one side, and all of a sudden, it was like his mind – his memory – got pulled sideways.

As he stared back at her, he was no longer facing a mortal enemy. He was back in a moment he thought he'd forgotten, standing in front of his house in Snowdin. A tiny human in a striped shirt was holding his hand and smiling up at him with perfect, stupid trust, and he knew that however much he despised humanity, he could never hate this kid, any more than he could reach up and stop the sun in its orbit. Why did he have to think of it now, when he needed all the homicidal energy he could muster?

With a painful effort, Sans tore himself away from that memory, back to the present and the woman in his hand. The skeleton growled, starting under his breath and working up to a snarl that reverberated throughout the stone walls. To hell with her. To hell with all of them!

Lack of space was a definite issue, but Sans prided himself on adaptability. He extended his arm to its full length, nearly shoving her into the frightened guards, which gave him enough room to materialize a single blaster.

It was much smaller than usual, and that was fine, because it'd concentrate the last of his power into one good shot. The skull shone an incandescent red, eyes aflame and fangs glinting in its own light, literally nose-to-nose with the High Priestess. Sans let his rage and frustration rise like a tide of pure filth, distantly surprised that he could still feel some grief beneath it all, and the blaster's mouth creaked open from the pressure building in its throat.

The priestess had pulled herself upright with her free arm. The scarlet luminescence was right up against her eyes, but she screwed them shut and leaned forward, face set with determination.

In his haste to align the blast and hit all the humans at once, Sans didn't hear anything unusual; he didn't even notice when the light dimmed just a little, or that the pressure had stopped rising. But then a shock ran through him like a hand grabbing his SOUL, and he jerked out of his concentration to see – and feel – the woman stroking the blaster's nose as if it was an overexcited puppy. "It's all right," she said, so low that he barely heard her. "Please, stop. It'll be all right. I promise." And he'd be damned if the giant skull wasn't closing its mouth and leaning into her hand!

No one had actually touched one of his blasters before. They were long-distance weapons, and he used them as such, only getting close when it was fun or strategic to do so. His first reaction was horrified indignation; he might be about to vaporize her, but for crap's sake, he wasn't being _inappropriate_.

As she kept petting, though, she leaned in and rested her forehead on the skull's lower jaw, and the skeleton felt an alien sensation steal over him, something he didn't recognize at first. The light dimmed further; the skull's jaws drifted shut. For the first time, Sans heard a soft, rich sound—it was the woman humming to herself, or to the blaster, as if trying to soothe it.

And it was working. Sans felt as if he'd been drugged, with a sense of...peace? Was that it? Yes, it was absolute peace washing over him, relaxing his grip so that the young woman had to catch herself before she fell out of it. She might have been smiling faintly beneath the veil, but he couldn't focus enough to tell. He wondered if it was the same magic that had made him think of Kris, a distraction to save herself and kill him before he attacked again.

No...he wasn't drugged or under some kind of spell. Sans remembered feeling this way when he was a lot younger, and a couple of times during the humans' last visit to the Underground, when he and Pap discovered that at least one human was worth something. Of course, then they'd lost him, and there were no more humans worth anything.

It never failed to amaze him. They'd had less than a month together, but all these years later, he still missed the little bastard so much that it hurt.

Luckily, the pain didn't last. The woman kept humming, and Sans grew less and less angry. The blaster made a kind of purring sound and vanished; at the same time, Sans' arm fell, releasing the priestess, allowing her guards to rush in and pull her away.

The boss monster gazed at the angry humans with total detachment, scratching the back of his head as he yawned. She'd won. "You win," he mumbled.

"Are you all right, my lady?" demanded the captain, helping her sit down against the wall.

The humming had stopped. The young woman rubbed her eyes, keeping them shut. "Don't kill him, please" was all she said.

Sans closed his eyes, too. The humans were conferring in rapid whispers on what to do with him, but he didn't care anymore. It was almost a relief when they stepped back, a couple of them grunted with effort, and something crashed into his skull, knocking him out.

~

Over a day later, the High Priestess shut the outer door to her chambers, whistling to herself. She set a covered tray on the table, sat down at her mirror, and checked that her eyes were clear, or at least not so puffy anymore. Then she picked up her veil and headdress and settled them over her head. She stared at her reflection for a full minute, as if waiting for the woman in the mirror to get up first; with a sigh, she finally pushed herself to her feet.

Just outside her bedroom, she let the whistle peter out into a thread of magic that ran ahead to check the loose barriers she'd set around the bed. Two echoes came back, one very close by. "Good morning. Please step back," she said into the slight crack in the door.

A pause, then a soft creak of floorboards, unnervingly quiet for something – someone – his size. "Further, please," she ordered.

He made a noise she couldn't interpret. Floorboards creaked again, and the bedframe groaned under his weight. The priestess turned the doorknob, picked up the tray, and elbowed the door open.

Sans was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. He had opened the windows, and in the early daylight, he looked even more menacing; the light shone through his filthy shirt, shadowing the spaces between his ribs. The young woman made herself place the tray on a side table and pull up a chair with perfect unconcern, as if she couldn't feel him staring her down. "I see you're all healed. You must have slept well," she said coolly. "I know I did."

The skeleton glanced behind him at the rumpled sheets. "Uh..."

"You were alone the whole time," the priestess hastened to assure him. "There's a very comfortable couch in my office that I've been using."

"Yer office, huh?" Sans stretched his arms out over his head, bones clicking softly as he rolled his neck around. "Pretty nice setup y'got here. What is this, silk? Real feathers?"

She inclined her head. "I would have removed you from your cell much sooner if I'd known you were there. No one told me until Duke Archibald asked me to help select your new owner, which, no, I am not." She grimaced. "May I ask how you were caught? You're certainly capable of defending yourself."

Sans didn't answer. The young woman was thinking of what else to say when he grunted and turned to stretch back out on the bed, splaying his limbs across the huge mattress. "This's the most comfortable place I ever slept, y'know that?"

"Me, too," she said before she could stop herself.

Sans glanced up, as if wondering whether he'd seen a glimpse of personality, and she cleared her throat. "Is it the same reason you made no attempt to break out of your cell for three days?"

Pause. "Got caught tryin'a steal some grain," the skeleton mumbled. "Not a lot of food in the Underground these days. I hadn't had anythin' for a while, so I was weak as hell."

"You refused to eat anything while you were imprisoned," she pointed out.

He shrugged. "I figured it was poisoned or drugged 'r some other shit. Humans don't get their mitts on a boss monster every day, but ya can't have five sorcerers watchin' me every second. Feeding me some kinda crap like that would be the easiest thing t'do."

That didn't feel quite right, but without more evidence, the priestess decided to leave it for now. Instead, she pulled the side table closer and removed the tray's cover.

Sans twitched at the sight of steaming hotcakes, piles of cheese-sprinkled eggs, tomatoes, and crisp-crusted sausage links. The priestess cut a tomato slice into quarters with her fork, speared one and, with the ease of long practice, took hold of her veil between two fingers and lifted it long enough to get the fork to her mouth, dropping it as she put the fork down.

"Seriously? Just take the damn thing off," the skeleton remarked, sitting up.

The young woman made a show of chewing, swallowing, and lifting another tomato to her mouth. He didn't have a stomach, but if he had, she probably would have heard it growling; he was shifting around and scowling, clearly agitated. So she quickened her pace, taking a huge bite of egg, a chunk of hotcake, and a sausage in turn, eating as fast as she could.

Sans' eyes had lit to orange again, and the priestess was glad to put the fork down. "There. You see? It isn't poisoned," she said briskly. She stood and pushed the side table over to the bed. "Help yourself."

The orange faded. His skull tilted this way and that, like a wary but curious animal. "What?"

"I had breakfast over an hour ago. This is for you," she explained.

He glanced at the tray, then back to her. She waited for a full ten seconds, almost holding her breath, before she was rewarded with a rude noise. "Can I have another fork? Don't want your germs," he said.

The priestess knew when she was being tested. She picked up the fork. She went to the nightstand and the pitcher of water standing ready, and dunked the fork in it, swishing vigorously. "Here. But first," she said, holding up the dripping utensil, "I'd like to get a few things straight."

He didn't move. A moment later, she felt a tug on the fork, and instantly snapped the connection by raising another barrier. "No cheating," she reproved him.

" _I'm_ cheating?" The skeleton banged his fist on the bedpost. "How the hell are you doin' this? I'm not dumb, lady! Ya can't just slap a barrier on somethin' that blocks every kinda magic! I can't get out of here, I can't go blue, ya did some weird crap to my poor blaster—"

"I helped you calm down. You've been asleep for twenty-six hours, by the way."

He stopped dead, but only for a second. "Yeah? Well...well, how do ya know so damn much about what I can do? If I'd known this was gonna happen, I'd'a left a long time ago!"

"And yet you didn't." The woman crossed her arms, keeping the fork pointed away from him. "I don't believe that you were too weak to remove yourself from the situation, Sans. We all have our secrets, and I don't mind that, but I need to know that you won't take drastic measures before we've completed our arrangement."

"There is no arrangement, witch," he shot back. "I'll make you a deal, okay? Forget this apprentice crap, lemme go now, and I won't kill anyone on my way out. How's that?"

She tapped the fork on the pitcher's handle. "Your people possess almost no farmland, and the area we've left you has notoriously poor soil. Did you know there are several potions, all made from common ingredients, that could double your crop yields in the space of a few years?"

Sans started. "No, and I don't care," he said, but without conviction.

"You should. There are also potions that can heal wounds, preserve foodstuffs, and send you to sleep with no ill effects, using only the tiniest bit of magic. Do you mean to tell me that monsters need none of these things?"

The skeleton looked at her warily. She could almost see him thinking. His rough speech and rougher appearance didn't fool her: he was at least as intelligent as she was, and likely cared enough to want to hear more. "So," he rumbled, "I learn all this fantastic secret knowledge, and you get...?"

"Insight. Humans have been fighting monsters for centuries, and the more we know about you—"

His eyes flamed. "The easier it is to kill us? You seriously think I'm gonna—"

"The easier we can stop _dying_!" she snarled, her anger suddenly flaring right back at him.

The boss monster's eyes went blank with astonishment. She took a long, deep breath that did not help at all. "Believe me or not, Sans, when I say that I want to make peace for everyone's sake. I am tired of hearing every unsolved crime and evil thought blamed on monsters. I am tired of arguing with sorcerers who want to seal the entrance to the Underground and let you starve to death so that we don't have to talk about it anymore. I am tired of mediating disputes over monster ownership, as if we had any right to help ourselves to other sentient beings, and I'm sick to _death_ knowing where our magic comes from and being unable to stop it!"

She was almost panting now, gripping the fork like a trident. Sans was staring at her like she'd grown another head. She swallowed, and lowered the fork. For want of something peaceful to do, she dipped it back into the pitcher for more swishing. "Monsters are not completely blameless," she said quietly, "but you are outnumbered by a much crueler and stronger race, and we've taken that advantage too far. It has to change, Sans, but we cannot do anything until we learn to talk to each other again."

Sans' teeth ground together. "Have you ever read a history book?" he snapped. "Ya know what happened the last time we had humans over to play?"

The priestess stared at a spot on the wall. Sans looked up in alarm as the barriers surged in and out of visibility, hissing softly. "Yes," she said, and went on, reciting from memory: "Several people were killed in an explosion caused by faulty stage effects at a farewell gala for the human delegation, most notably Prince Asriel of the monster race. Though the exact cause of this unfortunate accident remains unclear, its scope and destructive power were hallmarks of human magic, leading to accusations of sabotage and assassination from both sides. War was prevented solely by the will of Queen Toriel, who was devastated by the loss of her son and adoptive daughter, but nevertheless prevented her husband from executing the remaining humans. The delegation was permitted to leave, and in exchange, humans promised the Underground would never be sealed."

"...O...kay, then. Yeah. That's...that's pretty much it." Sans rubbed the back of his neck, scratching between the vertebrae. "Knowin' that, you still think you can teach me a bunch of stuff, turn me loose, an' make everything all better?"

"No. But I can try." On impulse, the priestess knelt, looking up at him and hoping the effect wasn't spoiled by the dirty fork. "Sans, give me one month. That's all I ask. You can have copies of any recipe you need to take back with you, and I'll show you the techniques to make them work properly. You won't have much freedom of movement, but you won't be kept in a cell, either." She glanced at the feather mattress and added, "You can keep the bed for yourself. As luxurious as it is, I feel lost in it."

He didn't laugh, but he didn't sneer at her, either. His eyes went from the fork to the bedpost, the canopy, the bookshelves lining the walls by the fireplace, and back to her face. "I need some time t' think about it," he said reluctantly. "What happens if I don't wanna?"

Her magic crackled in the air again, and she winced, trying to calm down. "I'd rather not say, but I think you know the answer. Remember, I'm not the only human who can use barriers."

He did not like that, and she couldn't blame him. She looked down at the fork in her hand. "You should eat now," she said lamely, and held it out to him, handle first, praying she had judged correctly.

The skeleton's face was impossible to read. Now that it was quiet, it reminded her too much of when he'd grabbed her in the cell. Her instincts screamed at her to pull her hand back and throw a barrier between them, but determination surged as she remembered how she'd already faced down his attempts to kill her. She was going to forge a lasting bond between their worlds and hand him a kitchen utensil like a normal person or _die trying_.

Slowly, Sans reached down, and she fought to keep from panicking as his massive hand approached hers. He paused...and plucked the fork from her grip with delicate courtesy, holding it up between them. "Hm. Too small. Still dirty." He tossed it back into her lap.

She stared at the fork. She stared at him. She stood up, dropped the fork into the pitcher, and plunged her hand in after it. Out came the utensil; she turned her back to him, and with one swift motion, off came her veil. As High Priestess, she wore it for most of her waking hours, which meant she'd learned to whip it off without even disturbing her headdress, the way she'd once seen someone yank a tablecloth out from beneath a set of dishes.

And as High Priestess, if she wanted to use her sacred veil to dry a mostly-clean fork in order to please a giant monster who was intimidating her and somehow also being a complete snot, then who was going to stop her? No one, that was exactly who.

With a righteous huff, she turned back around, still polishing the bedamned fork. "Here," she said, facing him for the first time. "I hope this is satisfactory."

Sans looked at her. He didn't say anything.

The world always seemed a little too bright when she'd just had the veil on, and the light from the window was in her eyes. She rubbed them on her sleeve and tucked a strand of short brown hair behind her ear. "Well?" she demanded.

Sans didn't take it. He was leaning forward, hand dangling as if he'd started to reach for it and somehow forgotten what he was doing. His sockets were blank, an odd color washing over his bony face. "Uh," he said. "It's."

The priestess didn't know that that could be a complete sentence. It probably wasn't, she thought in growing irritation. "Sans," she said carefully, "are you going to use this, or would you like to eat with your hands?"

The skeleton shook himself and turned away. "Never mind. 'm not hungry," he grumbled.

She bit back the urge to call him a colorful name or two. "Sans, this is not a joke. There is nothing wrong with your food, except that it's cold. Eat it. Please."

"I will, I will." Sans hunched his shoulders. "Just gimme a couple minutes."

She did not have the time or patience for this. "Sans. Look at this." He glanced at her, and in one motion, she stabbed a sausage and another chunk of hotcake. "Say 'ahhh,'" she ordered, and when he blankly repeated, "Ahh?" she thrust the fork into his mouth.

Sans nearly choked, demanding, "Wh' th' fuh, 'a'y?" before he swallowed it whole. The priestess was fascinated to not see anything pass his throat, though she knew he had eaten it. "What the fuck, lady?" he clarified.

"I am not 'lady,' thank you, and I know you know better words than that," she said sternly, putting the fork back on the tray. "It's not my fault if it got cold."

"I don't care how hot or cold somethin' is, lady. Ya didn't give me a chance to get my tongue out, so it's all the same to me." The boss monster answered her puzzled look by concentrating, then opening his mouth and pointing. "Thee? Tah-dah."

Good God, he suddenly did have a small, floppy red tongue. She flapped her hand at him, face burning. "All right! I believe you! Put it away!"

He did, and she was relieved to see nothing but a mouth full of giant fangs. "So," he said presently, "if I'm not supposed ta call you 'lady,' what's your name?"

The priestess blinked. No one had asked her that in a long, long time. "Well...if you don't like 'my lady,' there's always 'Your Eminence,' or my ceremonial name, Thea." It occurred to her that he was probably not going to react well to any of her suggestions, but she soldiered on: "You could just say 'High Priestess,' though that's a mouthful. At the convent, they gave each of us a different saint's name, and I was—"

Sans held up his hands. "Okay. That sounds peachy. But what. Is. Your. Actual. Damn. Name?"

She grasped her skirt so hard that her nails dug into her palms through the thick velvet folds. "My name is Frisk."

Sans' eyes were blank again. "Huh. No wonder. Welp, nice to meet you, Frisk." He raised a hand.

It was a blatant lie, but cordially given, so she attempted a smile in return. "It's nice to meet you, too, Sans."

For some reason, that seemed to alarm him. He drew back, then suddenly grabbed the tray, tipped his head back, and dumped the entire contents into his mouth. He had no cheeks, but his face somehow looked very full before he swallowed it all, dropping the tray on the floor. "There. Where's the bathroom?" he rasped.

Frisk realized her mouth was hanging open, and shut it. "It's...why do you ask? You're a skeleton."

"Right. Right." He scuffed the bones of his foot on the carpet. "Oh, look at this. _Fork_ yes."

Sure enough, he'd found the fork. She scooped it up, setting it on the table, and out of nowhere, the priestess felt a real smile lift the corners of her mouth. "Just in _tines_."

The words hung in the air for a long moment. Frisk was beginning to feel stupid when Sans smacked his thighbone and gave a shout of laughter. "I'll be damned! You got the _point_."

"It's food for thought," she said, and grinned as he doubled over. "I'm sorry. Please fork-give me."

Just like that, she thought distantly. Yesterday – the day before? – she'd fought for her life against a boss monster who interpreted her overtures as a deadly threat, and now they were giggling in her room like drunken schoolgirls. Was this going to work after all? Was this how real peace began, with awkward silence and stupid puns? If not, Frisk could always console herself that this was the most she'd laughed in years.

~

Sans was not wondering the same thing. He was thinking how he'd woken up not knowing where he was and had had to figure out that he wasn't dreaming about the battle in his cell: a human witch really had trapped him and knocked him out with some kind of weird brain-magic. Once he got over the fact that he couldn't take any shortcuts and wouldn't fit through the windows, though, he had to admit things could be worse; the bed really was the most comfortable thing in the world.

Talking with the witch was _not_ comfortable. It was bad enough when she was asking him questions about his capture and not breaking out of prison, but then she had to give him food and say things that made sense, and things that made even more sense, and then...

He'd never understood why human men made such a huge fuss over women. Monsters came in so many shapes and sizes that anything was possible; the inside really did count more than the outside, except maybe when it came to reproduction. But that was a rare occasion for monsters, who thought that humans' obsession with it was shallow and weird at best. Sans in particular had no interest in the human form unless he was trying to destroy it; they were all just skeletons with varying degrees of hair, meat and fluids in the way.

And then that infuriating woman had turned around in the sunlight, veil and stupid fork in hand, and he suddenly couldn't breathe. The overall picture was what made him feel a huge mess of feelings he didn't like or understand, but he could see every detail perfectly: her lips pursed in annoyance, the sun reflecting off that black circlet thing, chestnut hair shining and reddish-brown eyes half closed against the light. Her dress was still dark, but today it was a looser, white-laced style, shoulders partly hidden under some kind of sheer material that ended high up her neck.

And then she had turned her head and done something with her hair, and now he couldn't think things right. All he could try to do was turn away, then eat it all in order to make her go away, and only his punning instinct had saved him from saying or doing anything else stupid.

Why did she have to like puns, too?

This was bad. It had gotten very complicated, very fast. He had to get out of here. She'd demonstrated some emotion behind her priestess-y facade; maybe he could appeal to it, persuade her to take some other monster under her wing and...wow. Speaking of wings, as she laughed, he happened to look down at her from a different angle, and she had a _really_ nice rack. It was hard to see under such dark clothes, but they accentuated the graceful outline of neck and shoulder perfectly. Under the sheer material, her collarbone was—

"...going to do it," she was saying, wiping away tears of laughter. "I'm not all-powerful, but I have enough influence at court and with the Church to guarantee your safety." Frisk looked up at him, bright-eyed, and his SOUL did another loop-de-loop. "So, Sans. Will you stay?"

He didn't want to, it was a bad idea, and he said, "No," in his mind.

She smiled, tilting her head.

"Yeah," Sans said out loud.


	2. Escape

Three nights later, Sans woke with a jerk. Someone in the next room was sobbing. It wasn't a memory or nightmare, he realized a moment later, and it wasn't the priestess; it was a small child, crying so hard that it could barely breathe. Steeling himself, the boss monster slid out of bed and listened intently.

He heard a woman whisper something, and the child's sobs quieted as a familiar sound came through the door. It was the same humming that had de-powered his blaster the other day, though not the same tune. The skeleton took a moment to be sure that the glow in his eyes was out, then cracked the bedroom door open.

Frisk was kneeling, bare-headed, with her arms around a little boy of perhaps eight or nine years. In the light of one lamp on the worktable, Sans saw a dark patch of blood in the child's hair. Frisk glanced at the skeleton, giving him a wan smile, still humming. Sans closed the door enough that the child wouldn't see him.

The priestess waited till the boy had calmed down to the occasional sniffle, then leaned back and reached for something on the table. "I've got a treat for you," she said cheerfully. "Do you like peppermint?"

The child thought it over, and nodded.

"Wonderful, because that's exactly what this is. You'll feel better in no time." She held out a glass bottle. "You can have three big swallows, but only three, all right?"

Well played, Sans thought, framing it as something he _got_ to have, not something he had to take. Sure enough, the little boy gulped it right down, smacking his lips as the young woman retrieved the bottle. "Good. Can you do something very important for me?" she asked. Nod, nod. "Can you lie down and count to one hundred? That'll make the magic work better. Let's go to my office."

The child went with her quite willingly. After a few minutes, the High Priestess re-emerged into Sans' field of vision. Her pleasant expression was gone, replaced with one that actually made him feel a little sorry for whoever had pissed her off. Then he remembered the blood on the kid's head. "Anybody you want me ta kill?" he asked through the door.

"Don't tempt me." Frisk jerked a sheet of paper from a stack on the desk, grabbed a pen, and began writing rapidly.

Sans checked the time. "God damn, what's that kid doing awake at two in the morning?"

"Being beaten." The pen scratched viciously across the page. She began whistling again. Viciously.

He decided to shut up. Frisk soon finished the message, blew the ink dry and folded the paper in thirds, then sealed it and marched to the outer door, where she woke up the guard on duty. Sans heard her reaming the guy about doing his job properly, serving a writ, and not letting a guy out of the castle. She came back in, only to return to the office.

This seemed to be typical for her, as far as Sans could tell, though it usually wasn't this dramatic or this late at night. If she wasn't off at church or giving him lessons, she was talking to someone who needed help and apparently couldn't get it elsewhere. He had yet to see her do something for fun, or sleep more than five hours at a time.

Meanwhile, his daily routine had been surprisingly low-key. The first day, after being flagrantly mind-controlled into agreeing to stay, he'd eaten some more, then slept for another dreamless twenty-four hours. The next morning, she'd let him have another pile of food, then started his apprenticeship by showing him the most common ingredients for potions and how to identify them by sight, as he couldn't smell and didn't have much sense of touch. Yesterday had been a review, emphasizing that a mistake could literally kill someone, and she'd given him a book of basic recipes, asking him to make a list of any ingredients he found that she hadn't already introduced.

It was kind of annoying to have homework, and he was starting to get cabin fever, but otherwise, the whole experience hadn't been too terrible. He was relieved and disappointed that she kept the veil on almost all the time, which reduced the distraction somewhat, though she persisted in having a fantastic shape, and he was really starting to enjoy the sound of her voice. He didn't even mind the constant humming or whistling anymore, except when he felt the barriers pulse in time with whatever she was doing, and realized that she was strengthening them every so often. But when he could focus enough to ask questions, she was patient and encouraging, and let him use all the paper he wanted to write down the answers. She was obviously pleased that he cared enough to take notes, though not in a smug or irritating way; it just made her happy, and that made him...not unhappy.

It was also still novel to talk to a human who wasn't afraid of him. He hadn't seen many humans up here besides the little boy, and figured they were forbidden to come into her rooms unless they desperately needed help, or could sneak past a sleeping guard. That was fine with Sans, though he'd overheard one cleaning lady being so persistent that he _really_ wanted to come out of the bedroom and tell her to piss off. Unsurprisingly, Frisk had asked him to not do that.

There were only a few real mysteries so far. One was a pile of letters she'd brought in on the second day and tossed into a basket of also-unopened envelopes standing by the roaring fireplace in her workshop. He'd caught her looking at the basket a couple of times, as if debating whether to burn them all, but she never did it, or opened any in front of him.

The biggest question was how she knew he could teleport, and the nature of his blue magic, even if was getting more red than blue these days. He had unthinkingly used the latter to grab a couple things yesterday, and his magic had almost immediately died out. He didn't know exactly how she was doing it, but her barriers weren't just blocking him in: they kept his power so muted that he couldn't have summoned a single bone. It seemed that he'd be allowed to use some magic to make the actual potions, and that was it.

Well, there was time to worry about that later. The injured kid had made him think of Kris again, which made him think of the book passage Frisk had quoted at him. He'd have to ask if she...wait, no, he didn't have to ask. She'd given him carte blanche to read anything he found in her bedroom or workshop. Sans tapped the nearest witchlight on, noting that it was much weaker than the ones Underground, and started perusing the shelves.

Fifteen minutes later, Frisk knocked on the door, waiting for him to grunt acknowledgement before she came in. "I'm sorry for waking you," she said, dropping into her chair with a deep sigh. "There's going to be hell to pay in the morning."

She did look like hell, with bags under her eyes and a smear of blood on her cheek. Sans put the book down and tapped his own face, and she got the hint, rubbing her cheek with the back of her hand. "Ugh. That poor child." She sighed again, curling up and resting her head on the arm of the chair. "I'll wash up in a minute."

"Didn't you just get back from a thing?" he asked, wondering if she was always this cavalier about bodily fluids.

"Yes. His Holiness decided we needed more midnight services, and I have to be there every other night." She rubbed her eyes. "Flynn must have followed me back here. People aren't supposed to know where I live, but word is spreading. At this rate, I'll have to move again."

Sans drummed his fingertips on the bedpost. She'd found an oversized stool to use in the workshop, but there were no armchairs big enough for him, so he spent most of his leisure time on the bed. "Bein' High Priestess sucks. How long ya been at it?"

"Three years. The last Thea was assassinated, and they had to find a replacement as fast as possible. Out of all the minor priestesses available, I was the only one who passed all the tests. It's been...instructive."

"Hm." That didn't surprise him. A human strong enough to block a boss monster's focused attack had to be pretty rare. "How old are ya, anyway?" he asked, suddenly curious.

Her eyes shut. "Twenty-two. I was educated in a convent, ordained at sixteen, High Priestess at nineteen." A mighty yawn was partly hidden in her arm. "Lucky me."

Sans didn't know much about humans, but he was pretty sure that was young as hell for so much responsibility. The problem was that she was good enough to handle it, which meant they'd pile on more and more until she went nuts. "Nah, it sucks ta be you. Any way you can get out of it?"

"Well," she mumbled, eyes still closed, "I can die, or marry, or go back to the convent and become the Mother Superior, which would also be until I die." Frisk yawned again. "The Feast of All Souls is next week. That's when the last High Priestess was murdered."

Something prickled up Sans' spine. "You spend all yer time doin' church stuff, kissing babies and healin' puppies or whatever. Why the hell would anyone wanna kill you?"

"I meant it when I said I have influence in the Church and at court. I don't hate monsters, which is inconvenient for several people, and I'm not quiet about it, which is _extremely_ inconvenient for many more of them. Besides, my natural father is very wealthy, and his other childr—"

"'Natural' father?" he queried. "What, do some humans have unnatural kids?"

Her eyes opened. She looked lovely in the soft light, but troubled and sad, so much that he wished he hadn't asked. "I'm illegitimate. My father never married my mother, and our life was...bad. Very hard, for a very long time." The priestess rubbed her fingertips together, as if seeing more dried blood. "He was a _very_ busy man, but he only has one legitimate heir. After his second wife died, he started tracking down his children born out of wedlock, and it's an open secret that he'll leave each of us a large amount after he passes."

"And whoever's left gets a bigger piece of the pie?" Sans guessed.

"Exactly. As far as I know, there were fourteen or fifteen of us, but magic runs in his side of the family, and most of his children became sorcerers. Almost all of my half-brothers have been killed fighting monsters. Two of my half-sisters blew up in an experiment that went wrong. There are only six of us left, including the—his heir."

Sans' eyes narrowed. "What is it with humans an' explodin' stuff by accident?"

He couldn't read the look on her face. "If we knew the answer to that, history would have taken a much better course."

Of course, that made him think of Kris again. It seemed pretty inevitable, so he might as well ask... "I don't s'pose," he mumbled, "there's a record of the humans who went t'the Underground on that last trip? Maybe what happened to 'em after they got back?"

Frisk raised her head a little. "That depends. We know exactly which nobles, sorcerers, and other dignitaries attended. Do you mean one of them?"

"Nah, this was a servant, I think. Prob'ly. I dunno." The skeleton felt his eyes lighting up again. "He was only 4 or 5. S'comin' up on thirteen years ago, so he'd'a grown up by now."

The priestess frowned. "No one that young was in attendance, so far as I know, and I've read every account that I could find. May I ask why you want to know?"

"Nah." Sans flexed his hand around the bedpost. "Forget it."

Frisk sighed, carving a design into the plush chair with her thumbnail. "Well, I'm afraid the answer is no. There's no record of the servants who came along, except the ones who were killed, and that didn't include any children. You'd have to check with each of the—" She sat up. "Wait. I know someone who was there—my mother. Do you want me to ask her?"

"Hell yes, I do!" Sans' hand tightened, splintering the bedpost. He guiltily released it. "Did she talk much about it? What all did she tell ya? Can I ask 'er a coupla things?"

The priestess laughed, quieting him with a wave of her hand. "Sans, please! She's been very sick recently, and I don't want to excite her too much. _I_ will ask her anything you need to know, thank you. And yes, she talked about it to anyone who'd listen. She's the one who told me all about monsters, and what you're actually like."

Sans sat forward, but she forestalled more questions with another gesture. "First, her name is Rosa. Did you ever meet her?"

It did sound familiar. "I think so. Little, blonde, wore her hair up?"

"That's her. She would've been in charge of any children they brought along, but she never mentioned any of them to me." Frisk tapped her finger on the chair arm. "She did say there were things she wasn't allowed to talk about. She worked for the Duke as a nurse, and she would never disobey him."

He wondered for a moment if that meant the guy was Frisk's father, but was too excited to dwell on it. "What'd she say about us?" he asked curiously.

Frisk hesitated. "Well...she didn't talk very much with individual monsters, but she said the Queen was very kind and made sure to tell each of the humans how glad she was to have them visit. The King was also very courteous. He tried his best not to frighten anyone, and he thought it was rude that the servants weren't allowed to eat with the nobles."

Sans' foot started tapping. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he reluctantly stopped. "Who else?" he demanded.

The next moment, they both heard the office door open into the workshop. "Miss?" came a plaintive voice.

Frisk was at the bedroom door in an instant. "What is it, Flynn?" She closed the door most of the way.

Damn it all to hell. Sans grumpily listened to the child explain that he'd scratched his head and sorry, there was blood on the couch now. Frisk explained that wounds got itchy as they healed, and to please not scratch it, and that it would be much better to wipe his hands on the towel she'd put down than on the furniture. Then he had to be cleaned up again and a bigger bandage applied, and someone was sent for to take the boy somewhere he could sleep safely.

A thought stabbed at him as he listened to the proceedings: _that_ was how she knew he could teleport and zip things around without touching them. King Asgore had insisted the monsters show off their powers in various amusing ways so that the humans would be less afraid of their magic. Sans thought it was a bad idea at the time, and look what came of it!

Frisk eventually came back to the bedroom, drying her hands on her skirt. "Let's cut t'the chase," Sans said quietly as she sat down. "Did she tell ya about any skeletons?"

"Yes." Frisk folded her hands and looked straight at him. "Two brothers, Sans and Papyrus."

Sans laced his fingers together to avoid accidentally destroying anything else. "And...?"

"She liked them very much," Frisk said calmly, "especially Papyrus. Sans was friendly, but she said he watched their every move, and it made them nervous." The priestess smoothed her skirt over her knees. "Papyrus was a joy to be around. He was very full of himself, but there wasn't a mean _bone_ in his body, and he considered it his duty to welcome the humans as much as possible. My mother talked about him more than any other monster." She coughed. "Apparently, his spaghetti was terrible."

"...Sounds about right."

Frisk looked at him sharply. "I wanted to ask you about that, but...are you all right?"

Sans couldn't answer. He'd avoided thinking too much about home, especially the fact that he'd already been gone for a week when he got caught. It'd been easy to tell himself that he could always bust out of here if he needed to, or that the lady would let him send a message or even go have a quick visit before coming back here, but...

"Are you Papyrus' brother?" Frisk asked.

"Yeah," he ground out.

The priestess shook her head. "I don't understand. R—Mother said that Sans was shorter than any of the humans who came to the Underground, and the only boss monsters mentioned in the official histories are Asgore and Toriel. Can you tell me what happened? I wasn't sure if you were the same skeleton, you seem so diff—"

"A lot of shit happened, that's what." Sans lurched to his feet, and she had to tip her head back to look up at him. His sockets were glowing again. "Ya know what? I'm tired, an' you look like crap. Time for night-night." He jerked the door open, rattling the hinges. "Good luck cleanin' up. Blood's a bitch to get out. Trust me, I know."

She rose quietly, folding her hands in the style he recognized from the very first time he'd seen her. "All right, then. Good night, Sans," she said, and walked past him, out of the room.

He didn't slam the doors shut behind her, but it was pretty close.

~

Once she had control of herself again, Frisk wiped her eyes and resumed scrubbing the couch. She kept glancing underneath it, and as she threw yet another towel into the laundry basket, she decided, _To hell with it_ , and pulled the couch aside. A nearly invisible seam in the floor showed where a board could be pried up to access her hidden safe. There was no lid, no lock, and no key, just a solid golden film that vanished when she pressed her thumb into its center.

The High Priestess surveyed the contents: several tight-folded papers, a bag of high-value dinar, a sack of silver ingots, a few pieces of jewelry, and a small box. She selected the box and removed its rosewood lid to reveal a tiny glass orb, something swirling around on its surface like smoke. She stared at it for so long that her knees began aching, but she didn't notice. Her vision blurred again, and she jammed the lid back on the little box, shoving everything back into the safe, re-sealing it, thumping the floorboard into place and pushing the couch back. Not today, she told herself fiercely. She didn't care what Sans said or how he acted. It couldn't be worth it. Nothing could!

~

The next day, after a late breakfast, Frisk quizzed him on the differences between various herbs and powdered animal bits and their uses; they looked over the list he'd made of new ingredients, going through the recipes and identifying how each item worked in each potion. That was the first time she demonstrated how to mix and infuse something, and the first time she warned him, "You have to be careful how you _feel_ when you make potions. Intent is always important when you're using magic—you fully intend to cause damage, and I fully intend to protect, which is why we're good at what we do, yes?"

He shrugged philosophically, and she half-smiled. "Well," she continued, "it's similar when you're making something for someone else to take. If you're in a foul mood and you want to cause harm, or you simply don't want the person to get better, you might as well be concocting poison, or giving them water. Of course, your feelings don't matter if you're just throwing herbs into a pot, but these work as well as they do because you're putting a tiny bit of yourself into it. You have to make sure that it's a _good_ bit."

"Pretty sure all my bits are bad by now," Sans remarked. "How's about I make some poison instead?"

Frisk shook her head, leaning over the table. "No one is all bad, Sans. Here." She took the glass stirrer out of the miniature cauldron bubbling away in the middle of their workspace. "I'll infuse it now. Watch."

He did observe closely as she bent forward, though probably not the way she'd intended; he just made sure he was looking at the potion when she glanced up at him. "Try thinking of someone you care for, and imagine it's for them." She opened her hand over the cauldron and, to his surprise, let out a low whistle, piercingly sweet.

A mote of light drifted from her palm and settled into the mixture. It seemed to sparkle for a moment, then resumed being a potion. When he concentrated, though, he could feel a little tingle of magic in it. "I won't ask you to try it till you have better control of your emotions," she said. "Right now, you're so angry that I don't know what would happen."

A different note had crept into her voice. Sans shifted his bony weight on the stool. "S'not like I can help it."

"Perhaps," she said. "You probably don't even notice it anymore. It's become a part of you, through whatever _stuff_ has happened since the humans left the Underground. And before you ask, my mother is ill again. We can't speak with her until she's better."

There it was; he'd wondered if she was going to pretend he'd never snapped at her. "Well, you can only ask me so many personal questions before I get touchy, lady. Frisk." He tapped the worktable a couple of times. "Look, I know ya have a lot on yer plate, an' havin' to deal with me isn't much help. I just want t'know...is there any way to tell the others I'm not dead or somethin'? My brother's gotta be out of his mind by now, and I don' want someone comin' after me and gettin' caught."

Frisk shook her head, and his SOUL sank to the floor. "I'm sorry, Sans, but that's out of the question," she said, soft but firm. "Our King has forbidden any humans from coming within a day's walk of the entrance to the Underground, and let's be very honest—what would happen if a human came up to you out of nowhere and said they had an important message to give the monsters?"

Sans' jaw clenched so hard that the priestess put her hand out, not quite touching his arm. "Sans, please. If there was any way to—"

"Forget it, okay? Just...never mind." The skeleton glared at the windows facing out from the workroom. Like everything else in this damn place, they were too small for him to fit more than his head through. He'd gone through this in his own mind a dozen times: even if he could break through the wood and stone, he could sense the barrier set behind the wall to block his shortcuts. The one along the outside wall was heavier than the ones in the bedroom, which were permeable, purely there to track his movements. It was debatable whether this one could be physically broken with...something, but the moment he tried, she would know he was trying and stop him with a stronger barrier.

Hmm. What if...what if he waited till she wasn't here and couldn't get back in time to stop him? If he broke through when she was distracted, and far enough away – say, doing her church stuff in the middle of the night – then there wouldn't be much she could do. He could escape and decide later whether he wanted to come back or—

Wait. Come back? What the hell was he thinking? Why would he choose to be locked up by any human? No matter how pretty, and gutsy, and sweet and melodic and...

Crap.

Anyway. He wouldn't come back. He'd have to be sure to grab his notes and a few books for Alphys; Frisk could always get more copies. He already had plenty to report to King Asgore, though he felt a little uneasy about letting ol' Gorey know that the most powerful barrier-making human was a determined sorceress whose SOUL could probably make you invincible. Actually, he felt a lot uneasy. Maybe he'd keep that to himself for now.

Too bad he couldn't bring her with him...

"...ans. Sans?" Frisk was touching his radius. She'd lifted her veil, large brown eyes turned up to his. "Are you all right?"

Sans studied her for a long moment, reflecting that Papyrus had always wanted a pet. The idea was more appealing than he'd have liked to admit; he had to dismiss it with a shake of his head, and shake it again to get it loose. "'m fine, kid. Remind me what this stuff was for?" After all, he thought darkly, he'd always told Pap no. Pets were too much trouble, especially if you got attached to them. Besides, what would they feed her?

A knock on the outer door startled them both. Before Frisk could respond, the door opened, and in strode a tall, thin man in dark robes, holding a box under his arm. "High Priestess. Honored guest," the man said in a cool, whispery voice, giving them a short bow.

"Dr. Serif? This is a surprise," the High Priestess responded, replacing the veil as she stood up. "I wasn't expecting you so early. Sans, this is Dr. Serif, the royal sorcerer. Doctor, please meet Sans the skeleton."

The man regarded Sans with mild curiosity. "I am very pleased to see you again, Sans the skeleton. Has Her Eminence been treating you well?"

"Uh...yeah," said Sans, nonplussed. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

The royal sorcerer bowed again. He was unnervingly pale, the effect enhanced by dark eyes and long black hair framing his face. "I helped transport you from your cell to this room."

"It took magic," Frisk said helpfully.

He'd figured as much; magic was the only way humans could do any damn thing. The boss monster looked at the box under the doctor's arm, which had a strange feel to it. He couldn't tell what it was, but he knew he didn't like it.

"This is for you, as we discussed, Your Eminence," the man said smoothly. "I will leave it in your office."

Frisk looked so uncomfortable that Sans glanced at the sorcerer, but nothing was visibly wrong. The man ignored them both, striding past the table and opening the door to her office. They heard rustling, and the doors closing as he stepped back into the workroom. "That will be all. Good day, my lady, Sans." With another bow, the doctor turned and left.

"Weirdo," said the ten-foot skeleton. He found he didn't want to look away from the door lest the guy come back and catch him unawares. He hadn't been threatening, but something about him was very off.

"He's...unique." Frisk sat down again. "Now, this infusion is almost ready. We'll leave it at room temperature for another ten minutes or so before we stir it again. In the meantime, you can add two drops of peppermint oil, mint, orange or lemon extract..."

~

The rest of the day passed without major incident. Frisk had to stop in the middle of concocting a burn salve and leave Sans to finish it, though she cautioned him not to infuse it yet. She rather envied him; she had to walk to the other side of the castle to go over her parish's monthly accounts, balancing foot-long columns of tiny numbers to check that tithes and alms had come in and gone out properly. They never quite did, though it had gotten better in the past year, as she had made it increasingly clear that she was not interested in stealing from the poor or turning a blind eye to it, even for a few hundred extra dinar in her own column.

The attempts at bribery were particularly insulting because she didn't need it. The realm's High Priestess was entitled to half a percent of the Church's total monthly income, and through the magic of frugality and compound interest, her personal fortune had grown to the point where she didn't want to use any of it. Life was so strange; as a small child, she had only eaten once every couple of days, and now she could decide _not_ to buy her own estate and maintain a huge staff for it.

She was starting to wonder, though, about a rumor she'd heard regarding several hundred acres of land that would supposedly be up for sale in the next few months. They were principally wheat and barley fields, no more than two days' walk from the Underground's main entrance. That was food for thought, indeed.

Frisk eventually finished and stopped by the kitchens on her way back to her room. Sans was still wary of what he ate, and she took care to have more than one damned fork now when she tasted his food for him. She wasn't worried for herself: if she didn't have time to eat in the kitchen, she routinely paid several of the staff a bit extra to make sure that everything they brought her had come straight from the pot or the pan, with no chance for someone to add any surprises.

That had felt hypocritical at first, but she'd soon realized that she couldn't rely on people's consciences or sense of duty to keep her safe. Many, like the guard captain, were loyal for loyalty's sake, but many more of them needed external motivation, and she was helping the cooks and servers support their families. And she wasn't literally stealing from orphans to do it!

An overstuffed basket sat outside her chambers, and the guard hastened to open the door and push it inside for her. Frisk carried the tray to the table, humming the barriers higher and setting the tray by Sans' elbow as he compared nearly identical recipes in two separate books. Then she dragged the laundry basket over, pulling a sail-like garment out end over end. "Here you are," she said around an armful of fabric.

The skeleton looked up, scowling at the interruption. "Wha?"

"This is for you." Frisk tried to hold up an enormous shirt, then an enormous set of trousers. "I had them measure your clothes when we washed them for you. They made you another set."

Sans slowly got up and took the shirt from her, holding it against himself. It was sturdy linen, almost as thick as the canvas shirt he wore now and much softer. The skeleton turned it this way and that, poking the material. "What's this for?"

Pause. "It's a shirt," said Frisk. "It goes on the top half of your body. Humans need it for protection against the elements, and modesty, but for you, it's principally so that you have a shirt on."

He acknowledged her smartassery with a respectful nod. "I mean, wasn't this a pain to make? I hope nobody expects me t'pay fer this. Not my fault if what I got on ain't pretty enough for ya."

"Oh, it was. Getting something that size made up so quickly cost me more than I paid for all the clothes I've had this year combined. But you're not a slave, you're my apprentice. That means you're working for me, and I'm keeping track of your wages. It'll take a while to pay this off—" Frisk stuck her arm through one of the trouser legs, flapping it to shake it out. "—but I think you'll manage it before you leave."

Sans had another odd expression. "Yer payin' me for the stuff I make? I thought apprentices were the ones payin' to learn."

"I consider the knowledge you'll bring back to the Underground to be your apprenticeship fee, and as this arrangement wasn't your idea in the first place, we're bending the rules," she said patiently. "I see you've made three sets of burn salve, two of which look useable, and you're almost done with a cough elixir. Fair market value for those is about ten dinar total, so minus the infusion I'll do for you, you've earned about seven already."

"Hm." He scratched the side of his head. "What am I payin' you for my food?"

Frisk laughed, shaking out the other leg. "The pleasure of your company." At his blank stare, she shook her head and uncovered the tray. "No one charges their apprentice for room and board, Sans." The priestess put down the trousers, picked up the fork and leaned in for a bite of baked fish.

The skeleton pulled the tray away, making her stab the table instead. "If I owe ya money, you're definitely not gonna poison me," he pointed out, and began shoveling it in.

"You're right," Frisk said gravely, trying and failing to hide her grin. "I'm glad you've had time to _mullet_ over."

Sans pounded the table with his free fist, rattling the glass vials. "Might as well, just for the _halibut_. Right?"

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand. "That was weak. Think of a better one and let _minnow_ ," she said around it.

"You're right," he said, and waited for her to take a bite before he added, "We really need to scale back."

They had to stop laughing long enough to eat. By the time dinner was over and Frisk had carried the dishes out, both were relaxed enough to be sleepy. "Dunno why I keep wantin' to go t'bed, all I've done is read 'n catnap," mumbled Sans, trudging into the bedroom and flopping onto the mattress. "'m not even usin' my damn magic."

"You're eating human food, so your body is getting more nutrition and working harder to process it," Frisk pointed out, settling into her chair. "Mother said the humans all had to eat more to stop being hungry Underground." She tried not to burp out loud. "Besides, you're probably still recovering from the energy you spent being captured and then trying to kill me. Thrice."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that." The skeleton stretched all the phalanges of his toes, flexing them in turn. "Probably won't do it again," he added truthfully.

"Thank you." Frisk also stretched her legs out, Sans noticing how absurdly tiny her feet were as she got up from her chair with the recipe book. She reached down to dog-ear the page they were on. "Well, I—"

He whisked the book out of her hand and flipped it open to smooth the page out. "Use a bookmark, woman! What are ya, some kinda barbarian?"

"It's an old book! They're all creased anyway," she argued, trying to take it back. He held it over his head, roughly a mile out of reach. "All right, then, fine," she said with a smirk. "I'm going to take a bath. Read through and find five more ingredients to discuss when I get back." She shut the door on quiet skeletal griping, smiling to herself.

~

The next day passed in a similar fashion, at least outwardly. Frisk took careful note of everything Sans made, ignoring his suggestion to dock him the price of the ingredients when he screwed up; luckily, he was catching on fast, even if she wouldn't let him infuse anything yet. She also wouldn't tell him how much his new clothing had cost, saying only that she'd let him know when he broke even. What really got his attention was her adding, "If you make enough money, we'll send a few bushels of wheat back with you. No one can be upset that you were gone for so long if you come bearing gifts, can they?"

Sans was glad he didn't have facial muscles or anything similar to betray his inner turmoil. He'd had a lot of second thoughts last night about bashing his way out of here, due in small part to the new outfit and the possibility of bringing food to the Underground, but mostly because she was working her brain-magic on him again, being attractive and kind and easy to talk to like the terrible, sadistic person she was...not. She was not remotely terrible or sadistic, and that was the problem. He still didn't understand it, or how it was getting worse so much quicker than he'd anticipated. He just wanted to get away before she entangled him any further.

Then he'd started thinking of Snowdin right before he fell asleep, and for the first time since he'd been captured, he had dreamed of home. He dreamed their house was cold and dark, with no one upstairs and a single light on in the kitchen. A female form was silhouetted in the kitchen doorway, hands on hips, facing something slumped over the side of the couch. "C'mon, Pap. He's probably just out on another hunting trip," she argued.

"...IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER?" The thin, nasal voice hurt Sans' SOUL, and not just because he'd desperately wanted to hear it again. This wasn't his boisterous, indomitable, recklessly cheerful brother; this was a small, heartsick Papyrus, one Sans hadn't seen or heard in a long, long time. The last time it happened, at least Sans had been there for him. Now Sans was gone, too.

"Hunting animals, Papyrus! He's hunting _animals_. Not humans." The woman thumped the wall for emphasis, knocking little bits of plaster from the ceiling. Dammit, Sans had told her to quit doing that. "That's gotta be it. We don't eat humans, and he knows how bad the food situation is, right? So..."

"I DON'T CARE WHAT HE'S DOING. ...WELL. NOT MUCH." The skeleton heaved a sigh, raising his face from the couch cushion. "...UNDYNE, I...I CAN'T REACH HIM. IF HE'S ALL RIGHT, WHERE IS HE?"

And then something had seeped out of the darkness and gently enclosed Sans' mind, blotting out the dream like a sponge on spilled water. He had woken up knowing that it wasn't a dream, and was instantly enraged—he'd been so grateful that the nightmares had stopped, and too damn stupid to figure out that she'd set a barrier up against external influences, including dreams shared with Pap. He'd ponder the full ramifications of it blocking nightmares another day; the memory of his brother's expression had decided him. Agreement or no agreement, he was getting out of here tonight.

Of course, he couldn't pack up the stuff he needed before their lesson was done, or right afterward. He wasn't worried about giving himself away: as an accomplished bullshitter, he knew he was behaving perfectly normally. The moment dinner was cleared away, he called dibs on the bathroom, which had a nice, huge tub that he wanted to use one more time. When he was done and she'd gone in and locked the door – and after the usual stab of curiosity as to what she looked like outside of clothes – Sans quietly put everything he wanted into a satchel he'd found under the worktable, and stowed it behind the door in the bedroom, where he had to wait until she was done getting dressed.

The one odd thing was that after she emerged from her dressing room in her full priestess-y regalia, she went into her office and spent a few minutes doing nothing that he could hear, after which she was wearing a different brooch. She'd had a white one on the first day they met, but this one shone with a greyish light under her veil.

"Goin' so soon?" he asked carelessly. It was ten o'clock.

She smiled. "If my duties only included saying words and a few songs, I would sleep much easier. There's always someone to speak to before and after services."

"Gotcha. Well, have fun. 'm gonna read somethin' with a damn bookmark 'fore I go to bed—I forgot t'ask, mind if I try ta make a few things while you're not here?"

"Go right ahead. You'll pay for it if you burn down my workroom, so I'm trusting you to behave." Was he imagining a weird little inflection there? No, she looked totally wonderful. ...Normal. She looked totally normal. "Good night, Sans," she said, adjusting her veil.

"G'night, Frisk." He stretched out on the bed as she shut the door.

That was it, then. He might not ever see her again. It...wasn't a good feeling. In fact, it felt pretty bad. Time to quit feeling it, think of Pap, and focus on his plan of action.

The plan: well, for starters, it would be dumb to try breaking out immediately. He wished he knew exactly where the chapel was. He'd heard occasional church-type singing off in the distance, but that didn't give him an idea of how far away she'd be during the service, or for exactly how long. Instead, he watched the clock and fidgeted, as nervous as the first time he'd faced down a group of human sorcerers.

Maybe this was a dumb idea. Maybe he should just ask her to take down the barrier keeping him from dreaming with Papyrus, just for one night. She was too kind to refuse, and intelligent enough...

...to ask him for more information in exchange. Frisk knew he used to be a normal monster, and might think to ask if he'd always been able to speak across dreams; it wouldn't be too far a stretch for her to keep questioning how he became a boss monster. She'd also realize that if she let him communicate with other monsters, he could tell them several things that she would prefer they not know, including her identity and full capabilities. It was one thing for her to take a calculated risk and let him go back to the Underground with that information, or – much more likely – to make him forget it before he left; some humans had the ability to excise bits of memory like that. It'd be another thing entirely to permit a conversation that no one else could even hear. She was nice, not stupid.

So Sans waited until eleven forty-five, and then he sat in the workroom with the satchel looped around his wrist for another ten minutes, nerves humming. Then he got up, went to the double doors leading out of her rooms, and silently picked up a seven-foot decorative statue standing at the room's threshold, wedging it inward across the doorframe. He went back to the workroom, judged the weakest place in the outside wall, reared back, and slammed his fist directly between two of the windows.

~

Frisk had started to relax as the organist began playing and incense floated in the chapel air. She was opening her mouth for the first hymn when a warning note sounded in the back of her mind: the barrier to her workroom's outside windows was tingling, and then it suddenly burned away, the warning note sliding all the way up to a full-blown klaxon.

She gritted her teeth so hard that it hurt, controlling her expression with a supreme effort as the voice in her head screamed, _Sans, you two-faced sack of fertilizer!_

The only good thing about the situation was that she wasn't leading this service. Therefore, it was odd, but not completely conspicuous, when she stepped to the back of the choir, touched her new brooch, and vanished.


	3. Understanding

Sans was getting soft in his old age, or maybe from proximity to someone as aggressively good-hearted as the High Priestess, because he found he didn't want to demolish the entire wall. For one thing, without his magic, it'd be too much effort. More importantly, though, Frisk's rooms were many, many stories above the ground, and falling masonry could kill or injure someone below who hadn't earned it. Most important of all: Frisk would probably end up trying to help dig them out and put herself in danger.

He also figured that he had time to do things neatly and cost her less in repairs. Everything had been loosened by that first colossal blow, but he had to give it a few more whacks before he could start pulling it apart, making a pile of glass shards, wood paneling, bricks and stones in front of her office. Luckily, whoever had constructed the outside wall hadn't done a great job, or else it would've taken him all night. A carefully judged body-slam was enough to weaken the remaining support structures; a few kicks and a yank created a space big enough for the giant skeleton to squeeze through, and then he could see the barrier itself.

Panting, Sans took a moment to survey his handiwork. It sucked to exert himself like that, but he figured that sometimes in life, you just had to punch things until they broke.

Unfortunately, he didn't have that option with the barrier. The old stories came back to him as he stared at the golden latticework hovering outside the ruined wall. How was he going to get through without touching it directly or throwing something big enough to hurt someone below?

His eyes fell on the worktable and the vials of stuff he'd made this afternoon. Four hadn't been infused yet. Sans grabbed one, pulled off the cork and, with a speck of magic, willed the liquid to boil, burn, dissolve anything it touched. It promptly began to fizzle and hiss in his hand, and he had to fling it away like an idiot before it started eating through his metacarpals.

He did one thing right in throwing it at the barrier, which instantly melted and let the chilly night air wash over him. Outside, moonlight shadowed the bricks of a nearby wall that stretched almost all the way to the ground, ending in the roof of a building only a couple stories high. He could hop out, grab onto the brick edifice, climb down safely and be gone before Frisk even got back up here, never mind moving the statue and getting the doors open. From there, it'd only be a matter of time before his magic regenerated and he could take a shortcut home.

Poor Frisk. She'd tried. Hell, she'd survived his murder attempts _and_ taught him a few things, and he'd never forget her. Maybe he'd get a music box or something in her honor.

Anyway, she was better off losing track of him and finding a smaller, tamer monster to work with. What was she even getting from him being here, besides a hell of a lot of trouble?

The question was supposed to be rhetorical, but as if in reply, he thought of Frisk standing at the worktable with her arm up those ridiculously oversized trousers, grinning and saying, "The pleasure of your company," looking up at him like...well, like he was her friend, not an inferior or a dangerous monster or a _giant_ pain in the ass, pun absolutely intended. Of course, it wasn't as if she had many other friends, but he couldn't tell himself that she was just using a captive freak to keep her company; he already knew her too well for that.

This, right here. This was why he needed to leave now. The skeleton took a few steps back, gauging the distance to—

 _Whhhsh_ went something in his mental ear. He jerked around to see Frisk standing half in his shadow, half in the moonlight, with her veil in her hand and absolute murder in her eye. "Sans." It was a whisper, lost in the wind.

 _Shit fuck shit shit shiiiiiiit fuckity fuck SHIT_ rang in his head as the satchel hit the floor. "Frisk?" he whispered.

Frisk beckoned him closer with one finger. Unbelieving, he knelt, and she punched him so hard that he almost felt it. "Here is what's going happen," she said as he touched his jaw. "I assume you've blocked the doors, so you will go and unblock them, and I'll tell the guard that you were—we'll say you were fighting off an assassin, and everyone will be impressed when they see how much damage you did trying to kill him before he escaped. Won't they?"

Sans nodded helplessly. "How...how'd you...?"

"How did I get here?" She tossed the veil aside, letting it drift to the floor. "Let me tell you a story, Sans. Once upon a time – yesterday morning – I had a long talk with Dr. Serif. He said you probably didn't intend to stay for a whole month, and I needed to be on my guard, just in case you decided to pull a stunt like this. I didn't want to believe him, but I followed his advice, and lo and behold, less than a _week_ later, I caught my lying, backstabbing apprentice trying to break his word because he was apparently too _bored_ with me to waste time learning crucial information for the survival of his entire race! _The end!_ "

Frisk had to pause for breath. The boss monster took great exception to that last accusation, and he doubted that was actually the end of the story, but he was afraid to interrupt. "Do you see this?" she continued. Sans flinched as the tiny woman ripped off her brooch and brandished it at him. "Dr. Serif brought it yesterday afternoon. It seems he'd taken some of your magic while you were unconscious, and not only did he refuse to return it to you, he said I couldn't be here every hour of the day, and I needed to have this if you ever tried to break loose. He infused it with enough of your power to teleport myself one time." Another deep breath. "Do you have any idea how angry I am that he was right, and I was right to listen? And do you know how sick to my stomach I feel right now?!" Frisk threw the brooch to the floor, where it shattered. The last bit of magic quietly evaporated, and she pressed the back of her hand to her lips, eyes unfocusing. "And...how do you stand—"

There it was. He couldn't believe it had taken this long to catch up with her—the first time he'd tried using a shortcut, it left him feeling like his head had been screwed on backwards.

The skeleton glanced at the open, crumbling wall, then at Frisk, who was leaning heavily on the worktable, eyes closed. Then...

The priestess squeaked as Sans swept her up into the crook of his arm and headed to the bathroom. "Put me down!" she croaked, thumping his clavicle.

"Yes, m'lady," he said, opening the door, poking the light on and placing her at the very back of the room. "Go for it."

Once she was settled and could puke in relative peace, Sans went to the double doors leading into the hall, replaced the statue in its niche, and headed back to the workroom. Her office door was blocked by the many chunks of wall piled in front of it, and moving them again would take effort, so the skeleton ignored it for now. He picked up the satchel and set it on the worktable, wondering if the wind was too cold for her and how, exactly, he was going to pay for this, in every sense of the word. After one more look outside, Sans made himself tiptoe back to the bathroom and ask, "You done?"

There was a pause, the sound of water running, and a much longer pause before she opened the door and stared up at him. "What are you still doing here?" she demanded.

Sans blinked at her, mostly for effect. "'Zat a trick question? I'm makin' sure you're okay. That magic can knock you on your ass the first couple times ya try it."

Her face tightened, a hard, bitter expression that probably shouldn't have surprised him. "You don't say." She turned her head to cough, resting her forehead on the tile wall. "Congratulations to you, Sans. I'm here, but I'm in no condition to do anything. Your plan worked after all." She pushed herself upright. "Good night."

 _Shit._ "Uh...Frisk—"

The priestess walked right by to open the double doors, humming like a swarm of bees. He heard her exclaim something about the guard not being there, and mutter that she'd deal with it in the morning. She barred the doors shut, which he hadn't even noticed was an option, and wobbled past him into her dressing room, evading his halfhearted attempt to steady her.

Hangers rattled. There was an occasional sniffle. When Frisk came out in a long crushed-velvet robe, she actually looked offended to see him. "Don't you have somewhere to be? I said good _night_ , Sans."

Wasn't she going to at least try to stop him? Sure, she was sick and exhausted, but where was her determination? ...Was she so upset that she was determined to cut her losses and let him go?

That really seemed to be it. Well, Sans should have been elated, but he mostly just felt insulted. Besides, he couldn't leave until they got a few things straight, or else he'd spend the rest of his life trying not to think about it. The boss monster wracked his brain for a witty yet conciliatory opener, but what came out was "You're not boring."

A blast of wind howled through the room, flipping the lighter books open and ruffling the weighed-down stacks of paper. Frisk remained stock-still as her short, wavy hair fluttered across her face. "I beg your pardon," she said, colder than the autumn air.

"Okay, yeah, I admit it. I was gonna ditch ya," he said desperately. "But it wasn't 'cause I don't like you or I don' care about helping the other monsters. I—you remember all you heard about Papyrus, right?" Her expression softened a little as she nodded. "I had a dream about him last night that I'm pretty sure was real. Me bein' gone and him not knowin' I'm okay is _killing_ him, Frisk. I can't..."

She stayed silent as Sans pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. It had been so long since he'd told someone the entire truth that he felt completely exposed. It was scary as hell, but he owed it to her and to Pap. "Ya gotta understand," he mumbled. "My brother's all I got left, and I'm all he's got. You've been nothin' but fair to me, and it's not yer fault there's no real way t'contact 'im. I just...I can't go a whole month without lettin' him know I'll be home soon, and I can't dream at him with yer barrier up." He sat down with his legs crossed, staring at the floor. "I spend too much damn time away as it is. He never knows for sure if I'm comin' back."

Frisk swallowed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner how important this was to you? And what do you mean, 'dream at him'?"

"I didn't bother 'cause you might'a thought I was lying to make you feel sorry fer me. I know _I_ wouldn't trust me." The skeleton jerked his head at the ruined wall. "What I mean is, I can talk to Pap while we're both dreamin', but you wouldn't be there to hear what we were saying. I could tell him all sorts of crap, like how strong the High Priestess is and how much safer it'd be for us monsters if she was dead."

The priestess was silent again. Sans risked a glance in time to see her reach up to sweep her hair behind her ear, only to yelp in pain. Sure enough, as she raised her hand to inspect it, the outside knuckle was red and swollen. "Augh! How did I not notice this?" Frisk tried to move it and had to stifle another exclamation. "Wonderful. If it hurts this much, I must have broken it." She made an incoherent noise and started toward the rack of finished potions on the worktable.

Sans dimly recalled that humans didn't feel as much pain when they were scared or excited, and that it could catch up to them pretty fast. It also occurred to him that it was a bad idea for a small human to hit a thick-headed skeleton with her bare hand. "What are you doin'?" he wanted to know. "You can heal that up in a jiffy."

"I can't heal myself," she said brusquely. "I'm not very adept at healing to begin with, and I can't make it work on me at all."

That couldn't be right. "Ya mean to tell me you're good enough to hold me off and keep me penned in for days with no magic, but—"

"Leave me alone."

Her voice was so quiet and furious that he stopped dead. But as she picked a vial and started to pull the cork out with her teeth, Sans got up and held his own hand out. "Lemme see."

With as much dignity as she could muster, Frisk closed her mouth and handed him the vial. He put it back impatiently and beckoned again. "Not that, dummy. Yer hand."

The priestess gave him a long, eloquent look. When he didn't move, she placed her broken hand in his huge one, wincing as his thumb closed lightly over her wrist. It was hard to remember how to turn his magic green, but she'd been right about intentions: it helped to think about how badly he wanted it to work, not only to help her, but to prove that he was capable of fixing things as well as destroying them.

Sure enough, within seconds, his palm began to glow as if he held a handful of emeralds. When Sans could bring himself to let her go, she flexed it easily. "You've gotten some magic back already," she observed. Frisk smiled at him for a moment, and he couldn't not smile back. "You know," she said, anger rapidly resurfacing, "you're not only a lying reprobate, you are a _huge_ idiot." She rapped her knuckles on his palm. "I've always had a barrier guarding the bedroom from any external magic. If that was the only thing keeping you from reaching Papyrus, you should have asked me to remove it."

Sans sat down again. "But—"

"As for the possibility of giving him illicit information, I will ask you this only once." Frisk moved closer, looking him square in the sockets. "Do you intend to tell the other monsters, at any point, that your race would be better off with me dead?"

He didn't even have to think about it before he answered, "Not anymore. You're pretty damn useful as you are, speakin' up on our behalf to the other humans. I don't see anyone pressuring you into screwin' us over."

A brief smile. "I'm glad to hear it. For my part, I don't mind letting you talk to your brother as long as you take me with you. I'd love to say hello—I've heard so much about him that it'll be like meeting an old friend." She stifled a yawn. "If you start tattling on me in some fashion, I can always pull the barrier back up."

"...You want me to...bring you...in my dream?" Blink. Blink. "But how—what're you gonna—"

"One thing at a time, Sans. First, we're going to bed."

"We're _what_ now?"

"If you're not leaving yet, then we're going to bed, now. This mess can wait till morning." With a nod at her blocked office door, Frisk motioned for him to follow her into the bedroom. "Come along. There's nowhere else for me to sleep, and I'm freezing."

And so it was that Sans found himself lying rigid on the huge feather mattress, the priestess curled up like a cat in the armchair. He had no idea why he was so nervous; he couldn't even muster a semi-joke about her joining him in bed. "I've heard of this spell before," said Frisk, who seemed unperturbed by their proximity. "It's not very complicated. You've just healed me, and I've recently used some of your magic, so we have enough of a connection that I should be able to find you once we're asleep. ...The key word being _sleep,_ Sans. You have to relax. I'm not going to eat you, no matter how short-sighted and dishonorable you've been."

"You're not gonna let that go, are ya?" he mumbled.

"You have no idea. We haven't even talked about repairing the wall yet." Her voice warmed again. "For now, though, don't worry about it. We need to find Papyrus and set you both at ease."

Now Sans felt nervous _and_ extremely weird again. He turned onto his side so she couldn't see him changing color. "'Kay. I...yeah. Thanks."

"Of course," she said, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do a favor for someone who had completely betrayed her trust, and turned off the witchlight. He felt her raise another barrier at the bedroom door, one solid enough to stop an army, and a thinner barrier disappeared from behind the headboard. "There," she said in the darkness. "We'll see how well this works. Go to sleep, Sans."

That seemed unlikely, but he'd forgotten who he was dealing with. When about ten minutes had passed and the orange light of his eyes was still going strong, something wonderful started creeping up on him, a soothing vibration that spread through every bone in his body before he even knew what he was hearing. It was Frisk humming, of course, and of course it worked; Sans was more than content to let the sound and her presence lull him to sleep.

~

He jerked upright as something hit his skull, reflexively swatting the air and yelling, "Piss off!"

The lights were back on. In fact, it was full daylight, or what passed for it. Sans rubbed his eye sockets, turning this way and that. He was still in bed, but the bed stood alone in the middle of an open, snowy field. Kid monsters were racing back and forth under gaily decorated trees, throwing snowballs at each other and catching him in the crossfire.

The skeleton brushed himself off, reasoning that the Underground could be a weird place, but it wasn't quite random-snow-bed weird. This must be a dream, then. Damn it...

Oh, well. At least it was a nice one, and it felt pretty real—his good dreams tended to be fuzzy, while every single one of his nightmares was incredibly vivid.

Footsteps crunched on the snow behind him. "Well, hello there. That was simple," said Frisk, looking around them as he got up. She was in her plush robe and bare feet, but seemed at ease. "So this is Snowdin. Which house is yours?"

"BROTHER?"

Sans froze as a familiar shape emerged from a nearby fog of ice crystals. "Papyrus?" he whispered.

"I KNEW IIIIIT—OOF!" Papyrus had run to give his brother a bear hug and fell straight through him, as if Sans was also made of fog. "WHAT IS THIS, SANS? HAVE YOU BECOME TOO LAZY TO STAY SOLID?" he accused him from the ground.

"It's a dream, bro. This happens every damn time," the boss monster said wearily. "Just _keep it together_ and listen, okay? I'm here t'let you know—"

"WAIT. A HUMAN? IS THAT...KRIS?" Papyrus was staring up at Frisk, his face somehow creased in puzzlement. "IS IT REALLY YOU? I THOUGHT YOU'D BE...KRIS-ER, NYEH."

Sans snorted. "Not every human is Kris, Pap. Don't be racist."

"Hello," Frisk said, offering a bright smile and a hand up. "My name is Frisk. It's wonderful to meet you, Papyrus."

"YES, IT IS. NYEH-HEH-HEH! YOU ARE CLEARLY VERY WISE AND ATTRACTIVE, HUMAN!" Papyrus brushed the snow from his fake armor, throwing his red scarf back over his shoulder in so dramatic a fashion that he didn't notice Frisk grinning, though Sans sure did. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY GREAT AND ATTRACTIVE DREAM?" he added.

Still smiling, Frisk watched the pack of young monsters run by. The kids didn't seem to notice them, though the bed was still there and her purple robe stood out like a dark beacon against the snow. "Your brother wanted to see you, and I decided to come along," she explained. "Sans was captured by humans about a week ago when he was out looking for food, but please don't worry about—"

"CAPTURED?!" Papyrus clapped both hands to his skull. "THIS IS TERRIBLE! PLEASE DE-CAPTURE HIM IMMEDIATELY, HUMAN, OR ELSE I...I...!"

"Pap! Take it easy. She's okay. 'Fact, she's the reason I ain't dead or enslaved right now." Sans plucked at his shirt. "See, she even got me some new duds. You can finally stop bitching about what I'm wearin'."

Papyrus stopped flailing long enough to examine Sans' shirt. "NYEH! I SEE NO HOLES OR QUESTIONABLE STAINS. WHAT SORCERY IS THIS?"

Sans smirked, letting his brother poke at him in vain. "I told ya, bro, I just got it. You don't hafta _rip_ me apart like this."

Frisk rocked back and forth on her heels. "So," she said over Papyrus' exasperated groaning, "I gather you knew a boy named Kris from the last human delegation. Is that right?"

"YES, IT IS RIGHT! KRIS WAS OUR DEAR FRIEND," Papyrus said as Sans grimaced and turned away. "WE WENT FOR WALKS AND HAD SLEEPOVERS, AND MADE HAND PUPPETS THAT ALSO HAD SLEEPOVERS. IT WAS LIKE HAVING A CUTE LITTLE PET THAT CLEANED UP AFTER ITSELF. WE'VE ALL MISSED HIM VERY MUCH, NYEHHH."

"Yeah, he left with the other humans," Sans muttered. "Can we please move on now?"

"Yes, of course. I'm going to borrow your brother for a few more weeks," Frisk told Papyrus. The latter was glaring at his brother's new shirt again, as if daring it to make a false move. "I have a plan to start making peace between monsters and humans," she continued, "but I need a monster's help to do it. Can you get along without Sans until I send him back to the Underground?"

"HMMMM." Papyrus straightened, one hand on his chin. "YOU WON'T HURT HIM?" he asked, sounding almost timid.

"Absolutely not, Papyrus," she said firmly. "He'll be back safe and sound."

Papyrus nodded, evidently impressed by her sincerity. "I AM IMPRESSED BY YOUR SINCERITY, HUMAN. IF THIS DREAM IS NOT MY MAGNIFICENT IMAGINATION PLAYING TRICKS ON ME AGAIN, THEN I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, SHALL SPARE MY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING BROTHER FOR A LITTLE WHILE LONGER. NYEH-HEH-HEH!" Without warning, the skeleton grabbed at Sans' wrist bones. "HUMAN! I WOULD LIKE TO TALK TO MY BROTHER IN SECRET FOR A MOMENT, IF YOU WILL PLEASE EXCUSE US. IT WILL BE SECRET!"

"Of course," said Frisk. "I'll be right here. Just make sure it's not _too_ secret, please."

Sans covered his face with his hand as Papyrus marched toward the fog bank, still holding his brother's imaginary wrist. "Ya can't touch me, remember?" Sans called after him.

"...I KNEW THAT. CONGRATULATIONS, BROTHER! YOU HAVE PASSED THIS TEST! NYEH. ...HEH." Papyrus waited for Sans to join him, and they walked towards the river. "ARE YOU SURE THAT'S NOT KRIS?" the younger skeleton asked doubtfully.

Sans laughed, jerking his thumb in Frisk's direction. "Does that human _look_ like a sixteen-ish-year-old boy?"

"HMM. NO, IT LOOKS LIKE A HUMAN. BUT! IT SEEMS DELIGHTFUL! THE GREAT PAPYRUS THINKS YOU SHOULD BRING IT BACK HERE WITH YOU. IT'S BEEN TOO LONG SINCE WE HAD A HUMAN TO PILLOW-FIGHT WITH, NYEH-HEH-HEH."

"That's probably not a great idea," Sans remarked.

"NYEH-HEH! WHY NOT?"

"I could spend literally the rest of the night tellin' you all the reasons why not, but the biggest one is that she's the High Priestess, Pap. The other humans would definitely notice if she was gone."

"HIGH PRIESTESS?" Papyrus cocked his head in perplexity. "WHY WOULD A DELIGHTFUL HUMAN BE A HIGH PRIESTESS? DON'T THEY CREATE BARRIERS?"

"It's complicated, bro. Look, I've gotta go soon. Is there anything else you wanna say?"

His younger brother paused, and sighed, shoulders slumping. "SANS. WERE YOU REALLY JUST LOOKING FOR FOOD? WHEN YOU GOT CAUGHT, I MEAN."

The bigger skeleton tried to kick a chunk of ice into the water, his foot passing right through it. "I wasn't slaughtering humans, if that's what you're askin'. I was mostly tryin' to track down monsters who've been sold off recently. But I did want to see how the humans' harvest turned out, an' it looks like it was pretty good this year."

Papyrus nodded, still troubled. "ALL RIGHT, BROTHER. I UNDERSTAND. PLEASE, JUST...TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF. NYEH."

"You too, Pap." Sans felt a familiar stab of trepidation and backed away. "Shit, I've got a nightmare coming. I'll see ya soon, okay? Don't tell anyone about Frisk!"

He had to turn and run before Papyrus could answer. Frisk was sitting on the bed in the snow field, ducking snowballs. She turned and started to say, "I hope you weren't telling on m—"

"No more dream! End it now!" he panted.

The priestess didn't waste time asking stupid questions. As the nightmare nipped at Sans' heel, Frisk made a quick swiping gesture, and just like that, he was back in bed, in the bedroom, staring at the sun-washed ceiling.

The skeleton sighed in relief. He rested his forearm across his eyes. Between the radius and ulna, he could see the flickering shadows of birds flying past the open windows. "Thanks, kiddo," he said, "an' thanks for lettin' me talk to him. I really appreciate it." Sans scratched the top of his skull, rolling over to face Frisk. "So, how'd you like Papyrus? He's a cool guy, huh?"

Frisk didn't answer, because she wasn't there. A strange human child sat in the armchair, perched on the edge of the seat, holding a kitchen knife. It stared at him with red-shining eyes, teeth bared in a horrible grin.

If Sans had had more than a shred of magic left, he would have pulled all his blasters at once and obliterated half the building. As it was, he jerked back, nearly choking in terror. The child wasn't moving, but menace radiated off it like heat from a furnace, eyes boring into him as its grin widened. Sans looked around wildly for an escape. The windows were too small, but maybe he could—

A sharp whistle split the air. The barrier snapped on, and the child vanished.

Sans was sitting upright in bed again, in the dark, awake, panting as though he'd run a mile in a few seconds. "Sans, I am _so_ sorry!" The light snapped on. Frisk stood at his bedside, wide-eyed, clutching the neck of her robe. "I didn't think I was going to have that nightmare again before we woke up! I thought it'd be fine, I—" She took a step onto the bed, leaning over to grab his humerus. "Sans? Sans! Please say something!"

He shook her off, and she stumbled backwards, falling into the armchair. "What the fuck was that?" he rasped.

Frisk sat up and pulled her robe tighter around her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I should have warned you. It's the reason I have that barrier up in the first place." She swallowed hard. "It shouldn't happen again."

"It better not," Sans snarled. "What the hell was that thing, anyway?"

"I don't know." She looked so miserable that Sans wanted to smack himself, but he was too unnerved to lie and tell her that it was okay; he was shaking so hard that he could almost hear his bones rattle.

For a solid minute, the only other sound in the room was the wind blowing outside the shuttered windows. "I hope you had a good talk with Papyrus," Frisk said presently with a decent attempt at calmness, placing her palm on the bedroom door to dissolve the thick barrier. "I can see why everyone likes him so much. It's good to know he hasn't changed."

The skeleton grunted, hoping she was smart enough not to ask him any questions about _him_ changing. "Yeah. Thanks for fixin' that up for us. Sorry I pushed you just now."

"It's fine. It was an accident." Frisk fiddled with the key in its lock. "You know, Sans, I'd like you to help repair the damage you caused, but...if you still want to leave, I won't stop you. I wasn't thinking of how much it was to ask, staying an entire month."

Sans stared at her. She wouldn't turn around. Finally, he said, "What the crap, lady? You already let me talk to Pap. That was the whole reason I tried to bust out of here. Why wouldn't I stick around 'n make it up to you? Ya really think I'm that bad?"

There came a soft knock at the door, startling them both. "Your Eminence?" It was a male voice, deep and pleasant. "Are you awake, my lady? Please forgive my intrusion, but His Holiness urgently requests your presence."

Daylight was showing through the closed shutters. "Yes, of course. I'll be there in a moment," said Frisk, running her fingers through her hair, eye twitching as she found a tangle.

Sans watched her, and watched her move to unlock the door, feeling a different sort of unease. "Wait a sec," he rumbled. "Frisk, _wait._ Didn't you bar the big doors last night? How'd he get—"

The man knocked again. "Just a moment," Frisk repeated, turning the key. She glanced behind her. "What, Sans?"

The door banged open. Before she could blink, a stranger in tattered clothes rushed in, his arm raised to strike.

The boss monster was already moving. The man lunged, and there was a sound of steel hitting bone; the priestess found herself staring at the tip of a knife, inches from her face, jutting from between massive skeletal fingers. "Sans!" cried Frisk, twisting around to look at him.

Red clouded Sans' vision, but one clear spot remained: with his free hand, he reached out, corraled Frisk and gently maneuvered her behind him, fingers forming a protective cage. The other hand flexed briefly, then backhanded the intruder so hard that the man rolled clear out of the bedroom, hitting the worktable with a crack and a thump.

The skeleton clamped his teeth on the dagger's hilt and pried the blade out from between his knuckles, jerking his head to fling it to the other side of the bedroom. There was technically nothing to pierce where the knife had been lodged, but it still stung. He glanced down to be sure Frisk was unscathed, then edged forward into the workroom.

To his great irritation, the man wasn't dead; he was not only conscious, but pulling himself up on the table. "Who the fuck are you?" demanded Sans. Only the vague awareness that Frisk was watching kept him from grabbing the guy and pinching his head off.

The stranger wiped the corner of his mouth on his sleeve, squinting against Sans' literal glare. He was gaunt and generally gross-looking, but had moved fast enough and aimed the knife with enough skill to peg him as a professional killer. "What's a big-ass talkin' skeleton doing here? They said you got sold off already!" The assassin laughed shakily. "So it _was_ you bashin' that wall down! What the hell'd you even do that for? It took me all goddamn night to get out!"

Sans glanced at the office door, which was ajar. Several pieces of broken masonry had been moved out of the way by shoving the door repeatedly from the inside. The guy must have snuck into the office after Frisk left, while Sans was in the bedroom but before he blocked the entrance, and gotten trapped in his hiding place by all the debris piled against it.

It would have been kind of funny, except that if Sans really had left, Frisk would be dead now.

The young woman was leaning on Sans' femur, peering around his outspread fingers. He could feel her trembling, which only intensified his urge to kill something. "I know you," she said. "You spoke to me after a service last week. You said I...I..."

"Had a positively angelic voice?" The man leered at her, showing several broken teeth. "S'truth. But I needed to be sure 'xactly who you were. The last High Priestess used body doubles sometimes." He looked her up and down. "Gotta say, I like yours a lot better."

She shuddered. Sans leaned down, not taking his now-flaming eyes from the assassin. "You need this piece of crap alive, Frisk, or can I take 'im apart now?"

"Frisk?" The man cackled, slapping the worktable with a dirty palm. "That's your real name, lady? That's gotta be the dumbest—"

And just like that, he launched himself at Frisk, closing the distance and ducking between Sans' legs like a snake. He whipped another knife out from his belt and would have sliced her neck open if Sans hadn't been ready to nudge her out of the way, grabbing the assassin on the backswing and slamming him against the open door.

Before Frisk could react, Sans turned his head to the opposite wall and said, "Holy crap, what's that?" As she whirled around, Sans plucked the knife out of the man's hand and gave him one squeeze, very quick and _very_ hard. "Whoops, my bad. Nothin' there," he said to cover the sound of ribs breaking.

The priestess started to turn back. "Stay where you are," Sans ordered, pulling the assassin out of her line of sight, stepping into the workroom and closing the door behind him. "Oh, no you don't," he said loudly, as if chasing the man down. "Nooo, stop! We just want to talk to...oh, no!"

The assassin didn't seem to appreciate the theatrics, especially because Sans was carrying him straight to the broken wall. Ignoring the man's feeble protests, the skeleton drew his arm back and murmured, "Now think about what you've done, pal," before tossing him out into the open air.

His only concern was that the bastard would make a lot of noise on the way down, but it seemed he'd knocked the _wind_ out of him, ha. By the time Frisk peeked out of the bedroom, the assassin was long gone.

Sans shook his head and turned from the opening. "Nope. Sorry, I couldn't catch him before he told us who sent him." He wished he had his jacket; his hands had nowhere to go. "You all right, Frisk?"

The priestess gulped and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "No, I'm not." She slid down, back to the wall, and wrapped her arms around her knees.

She didn't seem be physically hurt, so for the moment, he said, "'Kay," and stared at the slightly open office door. "Son of a bitch. I'm gonna tear that guard a new one. D'you think he knew you were sleepin' in there, or was it just a convenient...place to...crap."

Frisk's shoulders had hunched and her face gone pale. Sans ground his teeth, cursing his stupidity. "Well, it's over. He won't bother you again," he reassured her, coming to kneel beside her. "At least that cover story 'bout the assassin ain't a lie now. Right?"

She didn't look reassured at all. With the threat of bodily harm removed, Sans was out of his element again, with no clue how to help her. He wasn't much good at saying nice things, and he didn't have sound-based magic to hum at her. Should he explain that this was an inconvenient but probably solvable problem that she'd always known might come up? No, that would be dumb. She already had enough problems. She didn't need to worry about more shitheads getting in here to hurt her. As long as she was an important and politically vocal person, it wasn't like she could do much to...

Wait. That was it: Sans had _the_ idea. "Actually, ya know what?" He waited for her to shake her head. "You were sayin' this weird stuff about me leaving once I'd seen Pap. Before we talk about that, I gotta ask, what's the going rate for a bodyguard around here? A good one, not just some moron following you around tryin' to look scary."

She bit her lip, a habit Sans had noticed and been distracted by several times already. "Um...it depends. A skilled full-time personal guard? Anywhere from fifty to a hundred dinar—"

"Oh, nice. I can probably—"

"—an hour. I only sleep a few hours a night, so..." Frisk gave him the ghost of a smile. "If you're offering your services, Sans, I'd be glad to accept. Would a salary of one thousand per diem be acceptable?"

Now he really was at a loss for words. "A thousand a friggin' day?" he repeated blankly.

Frisk nodded. Her shock seemed to be fading as she thought aloud: "You could pay for your clothes in one day, and I can negotiate the repairs down to about ten days' worth. After that, well, wheat is about five dinar a bushel." Despite herself, she sniffled again. "You could buy a _lot_ of wheat, or beans, or...or wedding cakes, or literally anything else you want to take Underground with you."

He was patting himself on the back when, without warning, Frisk's smile faded. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you before I unlocked the door." Sniff. "Thank you for staying with me." Sniff. "And thank you for saving my life."

 _Shit shit_ was as far as Sans got before he lost even that bit of coherence. His senses were already heightened by the unexpected danger, his SOUL still feeling a little queasy at how close she'd come to dying right in front of him; to cap it off with Frisk looking up at him like this with big eyes, messy hair, and her robe falling off her shoulder was more than he could handle. She never looked bad, but right now, _damn_.

Sans didn't realize he was reaching for her until his fingertip brushed her cheek, toying with a wavy lock of hair. "Don't mention it," he said gruffly. "'s the least I can do."

Frisk pulled away, face flushing, but only in momentary surprise. He devoutly hoped that she'd get up and go get dressed, or maybe pack her things, buy a fast horse and leave the kingdom forever, but that damnable woman didn't know any better than to smile and take his hand, or at least rest her hand in the space between two of his fingers. "Just so long as you keep in mind that you're still my apprentice," she said with mock sternness. "Do you promise?"

_Fffffffff_

Neither of them understood what happened next. Sans felt something welling up that made him want to grab her and...he didn't know what would happen next, but he wanted it so badly that he backed away in sudden alarm. All he knew was that this feeling – this energy – had to go somewhere, and if he directed it at her, he could accidentally mash her into paste. The only thing he could think of was to whip around, look for something else to latch onto, and focus his attention on the pile of stones, etc. by the office.

His magic was barely available, or so he would have said a minute ago. Fueled by the whatever-it-was, though, and with the barrier gone from one of the walls, Sans didn't even have to think about it: Frisk jumped back as the heap of debris by her office began to glow red, rising into the air and flying into the broken wall. To their mutual astonishment, the outside bricks and internal structures zipped back into place first, followed by more bricks, mortar, stone, wood, and finally the glass and lead of the windows. When the dust settled, the entire facade had been imperfectly but almost entirely restored, the floor sagging under the windows.

Sans stared at his hand, still breathing heavily. "Huh," he said by way of explanation.

"Indeed." Frisk absently ran her fingers through her hair again, working out a tangle as she examined the wall. "Did I know you could do that?"

" _I_ didn't know I could do that." Now that the unfamiliar energy was gone, Sans found he wanted to sit down. He sat down next to her, comfortably but not dangerously close. "Welp, I need a break from life," he said, which got a laugh out of her. He snorted. "Break. I actually didn't mean that one."

Frisk gave a long, long sigh. "We'll _knock down_ your fee to three or four days of repairs," she said gravely.

Sans couldn't help grinning. "I always knew there was _mortar_ life than money."

She kept a straight face until he added, "Makin' it pretty again is gonna be a pane in the glass," whereupon she broke out in hysterical, snorting laughter, which cracked him up in turn and guaranteed a minutes-long feedback loop.

As nice as this all was, Sans was a little concerned when he got under control and she kept going, and going, and ended up nearly gasping for breath. "You okay, kid?" he asked. "Ya need some water?"

"Oh, Lord," she wheezed. Frisk wiped her eyes on her already-damp sleeve. "Sans, you're killing me."

Silence. Frisk thought about it, and promptly buried her head as far between her knees as she could get it. "I didn't do that on purpose," she said, muffled and sheepish.

Sans shifted his weight. He wasn't ready to admit to himself how badly the whole attack had scared him, much less to her. Just to check, he considered escaping again – maybe once she was letting him walk around with her outside and his magic was naturally restored – and now, less than twelve hours after doing his damndest at it, he couldn't believe how much he hated the idea. No problem, really; he could chalk it up to her letting him connect with Papyrus and needing to make it up to her. Also, holy shit, one thousand dinar every day for the next twenty-five days? That was as solid a set of reasons as he'd ever come up with.

"Well," he finally said. "Guess you'd better get yer scary witch dress on and go tell everyone about this whole mess." He snapped his fingers, making an odd click, as something occurred to him. "That's right—I got both those knives off him. Maybe someone can take a look at 'em and figure out who he was, where they were from."

Frisk raised her head, staring into space. "No," she said, as if to herself. The boss monster looked askance, and she smiled in a small, nasty way he hadn't seen before. "We won't say anything." The smile grew. "I'll go about my day as if nothing happened, except I'll be accompanied everywhere by a ten-foot skeleton. Whoever set him after me will have no idea what happened, and it'll drive them absolutely mad. We can see if anyone incriminates themselves, but...ohh, I'm going to enjoy this."

"It's a neat idea, but the garbage threw itself out already, remember?" Sans indicated the repaired wall. "Someone's bound to notice 'im."

The young woman did a remarkable impression of shock and distress, eyes wide and mouth hanging open before she murmured, "That poor man jumped from such a height? What a hideous tragedy. Peace be upon his soul and those of his loved ones."

"Daaaamn" was all Sans could say. He might have killed the guy and covered it up, but he couldn't look that cute telling a bare-ass lie! Also... "Ain't you a priestess? Isn't that a little...?"

Frisk scowled. Despite her bedhead and furry robe, she was the very image of sternness and, yes, determination. "I was taught that it is my duty to aid the weak and be an instrument of justice against people who, for example, want to stab me in my own bedroom when I've done _nothing_ to harm them. It's no sin to protect yourself."

The skeleton shrugged, holding his hands out. "Okay, that's enough. I think I love ya. Where do I sign up to kill people for you?"

The priestess laughed. "I bet you say that to every girl you try to escape from. And, please, don't kill anyone." She glanced at the clock, and her amusement melted into panic. "Dirt! I have matins in twenty minutes!" She sprang to her feet and made a beeline for her dressing room. "Can you please find my veil for me?" she called before she shut the door.

Sans also got up, muttering, "'Dirt'? Seriously?" as he retrieved the veil from where it had blown onto the table. As an afterthought, he returned to the bedroom and picked up the assassin's daggers. He studied them, saying out loud, "I think I'm screwed, is what I am," then placed them on the nightstand.

He heard Frisk emerge from her dressing room and went to meet her as she asked, "Sans, do you have my—"

He handed the veil over. "Thank you, sir." She threw the veil over her head and adjusted the headdress over it. "May I assume that you haven't been to many religious services?"

"Er..."

"Well, we have an oral contract, effective immediately, and I am going to church, so you are going to church." She inclined her head, moving toward the double doors. "Follow me."

And, of course, he did.


	4. The King

It started as soon as they left the room. The guard said his usual "Go and return safely, Your Eminence" in his usual half-respectful, mostly-bored tone, glanced over at the sound of bones clicking on the marble floor, and nearly shrieked as Sans closed the door behind him.

"S'up," said the boss monster.

The man clutched his weapon and inched far, far back, eking out a miniature version of "Hail, visitor" from behind the halberd shaft.

Sans gave him a big smile, looming over the poor man with his fangs on full display. Frisk raised her hand very slightly. "That will do, Sans," she said in her High Priestess voice. "You, sir. When I returned from services last night, I found my chambers unguarded. When you have finished your work today, inform your sergeant that I will speak with him this evening and learn the reason for this malfeasance. Until then, no one is to enter for any reason. Is that clear?"

Nodnodnod. Frisk folded her hands and walked as briskly away as her tight gown would allow, clearing her throat to stop Sans from waving bye-bye in the guard's face. They were at the stairwell before she permitted herself to smile under the veil.

"This's gonna be a long day," the skeleton said as they hurried down multiple flights of stairs. "You hafta do this every time ya go somewhere?"

"Correct," she said. "I dare you to try it in these shoes, too." Frisk picked up her skirt enough to reveal her high-heeled slippers.

"Hell, no. I'm not payin' for those in my size," he retorted. But as he came down the wide staircase a few steps below her, his eye sockets seemed to stay pointed at her feet for several seconds, long enough to make her wonder if she was imagining it, and remind her of the times she had caught him staring at her during their lessons.

Actually, it was hard not to wonder about several things. Sans definitely seemed penitent, and he had ignored several opportunities to escape after his initial attempt failed. That in itself was noteworthy, but then there were all those odd, multicolored looks, how he'd healed her after she'd been stupid enough to break her hand hitting him; telling Papyrus that she was "okay" – a standing ovation by his standards – protecting her, touching her face, that jokey "I think I love ya"...

Frisk shook herself. She was being pathetic. Just because she'd gone straight from a convent to an exalted position with no opportunity in between for any romantic endeavors, that was no excuse to latch on to the first male of either species she happened to spend time with! Was she really this starved for affection? Was she genuinely trying to convince herself that a misanthropic skeleton behaving with a shred of decency meant he'd somehow fallen madly in love with her in less than a week? What would she even do if he had, which he hadn't? _He'll be gone soon_ , she reminded herself. _Think of what you need to do. Be grateful he doesn't want you dead_ and _he's agreed to protect you!_

Besides, there was always the basket of letters in her workroom. Frisk wrinkled her nose, but had to smooth it out as they approached the chapel doors. She never knew who was looking closely enough to see under her veil.

For most morning services, a minor priestess was in charge of the readings, while Frisk directed the choir and gave the closing benediction. This particular morning, she walked into the chapel with Sans three steps behind, bracing herself, hoping the parishioners would be too shocked to do anything but sit and stare.

The organist was warming up as they headed to the altar, and a ripple of gasps and terrified whispers began running up and down the pews, almost in time with the music. When Frisk stationed the skeleton in a partly hidden nook and assumed her position facing the congregation, she came within milliseconds of laughing again: every face was frozen in pop-eyed disbelief, most of their mouths agape. She made the mistake of glancing at Sans, who opened his own mouth and did an impression of the shocked humans that nearly broke her.

There was nothing for it. Reminding herself that Sans _was_ quite frightening to look at, Frisk disregarded protocol again and motioned for the priestess at the altar to move aside. The girl was happy to do so, putting Frisk between herself and Sans.

The High Priestess waited until everyone began to notice that nothing was happening, calming down enough to get curious. Then, "I beg your attention, ladies and gentlemen," said Frisk. "We are joined today by an emissary from the monster kingdom who has agreed to apprentice under me as we strive to renew peaceful relations between our nations. I beg you to put aside fear and hatred, and join me in welcoming Sans as an honored guest of Church and Crown." She turned to the minor priestess. "My apologies, Sister Olivia. Please begin."

To her profound relief, the majority of her listeners seemed thoughtful or intrigued, a few nodding slowly. Only four or five of them got up and left, which was better than she'd hoped.

To her even greater relief, Sans stayed quite still and well-behaved for the whole service. The chapel was lavishly decorated with stained glass, statuary, and an embroidered altar cloth, but as Frisk remembered all too well from childhood, it wasn't enough to look at for an entire hour. She was probably the only one who could tell how bored Sans was as the prayers wore on; she learned quickly not to look at him during the readings, because he kept making faces and forcing her to bite the insides of her cheeks. Thank God she wasn't scheduled to sing today!

The service eventually ended, and she glanced apologetically at the boss monster as people rushed up to the altar, forming a dense, fretful clot around her. The first question to make it through the hubbub was "Is this the skeleton you bested in the dungeons, my lady?"

Frisk had already fielded many, many inquiries about that incident, and had kept her answers vague. Now, knowing whatever she said would be disseminated by people who had witnessed Sans' size and non-ferocity for themselves, she could tell them, "Yes. The monsters have been suffering a famine for many years, and Sans was captured in search of food for his family. By the time I came down to speak with him, he had been imprisoned for several days without knowing what his fate would be. Monsters are not animals, and he understood very well that he would likely be killed or enslaved. He had every reason to believe I was a threat and behave accordingly. Since we reached an understanding, he has given me no reason to worry for my or anyone's else's safety."

She let them absorb that information, and it seemed to be working, though the next questions were still "Is it dangerous?" and "How do we know it won't turn on you?" Luckily, the priestess had had plenty of practice at not screaming _Were you even listening?!_ at people, and stayed as calm, patient, and reassuring as possible, emphasizing that the skeleton was _not_ dangerous, and was not her slave, or an "it," adding that he would remain with her for another six weeks.

That last was a deliberate lie. No one was going to take custody of Sans from her through official channels, but anyone who wanted to get ahold of him illicitly would probably make their move closer to the middle or end of his visit, after they'd gotten more information to work with; if they thought he'd be there longer than was the case, it could very well keep him safer.

She wasn't sure if Sans could hear them from where he was, but she suspected he could, because the fifth time someone asked, "Are you sure it isn't going to hurt us?" the skeleton uncrossed his arms and lumbered up to the altar, scattering humans before him like frightened birds.

"Please excuse us, everyone, and peace be with you. Thank you for your patience, Sans," Frisk told him. "Would you like to take a different route back?"

"Indubitably," Sans said, confusing everyone in earshot. "After you, m'lady." He nodded in the humans' general direction before setting off after Frisk, who had folded her hands again to conceal their shaking.

Her heartrate slowed somewhat as they crossed several hallways to the foyer connecting the chapel with most other wings of the palace. Double-paned, diamond-patterned windows reached from a few feet off the floor to the five-story ceiling, and crystal chandeliers caught the sunlight and scattered it like tiny opals across the blue carpet. The marble floors and columns had been polished to near-mirror brightness; a guard in spotless red livery was stationed at every door, with two at the foot of each staircase.

The men did double takes as they passed, but were better trained than those assigned to Frisk's room: they recovered quickly, bowing to the High Priestess and taking their cue to ignore the giant skeleton trailing after her. Each guard was lean and alert, with a sword in hand and a dagger at the hip. "I thought you were gonna sing today," Sans said suddenly.

Frisk didn't understand where that came from till she saw him checking out the weaponry and remembered the assassin's remark about her voice...and her body. Her hands tightened involuntarily. "I rarely do at matins. More people attend vespers, so we use the morning services as practice for the less experienced clergy. I'm essentially there to supervise." She stopped in front of a set of double doors so tall that Sans could walk through without ducking his head. This time, a footman scurried to open them for her, leaving the guards free to try not to stare at the boss monster. "I'm excused this evening because I...well, I was supposed to be there last night. Enough people saw me before the service that I can pretend I was there the whole time."

Sans stepped up beside her, trying not to walk too fast. "Atta girl," he said amiably. "That shit is boring."

The priestess bit her cheek again. "That's no way to speak of a holy ritual," she scolded him.

"Well, I'd rather get a _hol-y_ in my head than hafta do that every day."

She emitted a low _snrrrk_ that made him laugh in turn, and they might have started another cycle if someone in red-and-white livery hadn't spotted them from far up the hall and began jogging over. "Your Eminence!" the man called.

Sans moved half in front of her, but Frisk tapped his elbow and murmured, "It's all right, he's the King's manservant. Yes, Lucas?"

"His Majesty and His Holiness jointly request the honor of your presence at your earliest convenience," said the manservant, sparing Sans a bored glance.

Frisk knew a command when she heard one. "Of course." She beckoned for Sans to follow as the man turned to speed-walk back the way he'd come.

"Have you heard, my lady," Lucas said as they hurried along, "that a man was found dead in the hyacinth courtyard early this morning?"

"Oh, dear," the priestess responded, careful not to overdo it. "Was he murdered?"

Behind her, the boss monster made a very quiet noise, and she turned her head just enough to shut him up. It was almost a shame to waste her acting on one person; she doubtless would have had this conversation with her parishioners if Sans hadn't taken precedence.

"No, it seems he jumped from a great height," said the manservant. "A _very_ great one."

Frisk shook her head with a little sigh. "What a hideous tragedy. Peace be upon his soul and those of his loved ones."

Sans was loudly silent as the servant made several rapid turns and steered them up a series of increasingly opulent staircases, through wider and more richly carpeted halls. Eventually, they reached a set of doors over twenty feet high, emblazoned with the kingdom's heraldic griffins in brass and precious stones. "Fancy," remarked Sans.

"Very kind of you, sir." Lucas stood to attention as the footmen hastened to open the door, the guards calling up and down the room that Her Eminence had arrived.

Despite the oversized doors, it wasn't a throne room, or an audience chamber, barely rating the word "chamber" at all; it was just a room with a high ceiling, several expensive chairs and a table near a fireplace. But it was the King's favorite, and Frisk knew from experience that he used it instead of the throne room whenever possible.

King Stephin sat now by the fire, a gaunt, gray-haired man with strong features and dark gray eyes. Next to him was a portly, red-haired priest in richly patterned silver-and-black robes, a marked contrast to the King's plain clothing. "Your Highness. Your Holiness," Frisk murmured, bowing deeply to each in turn. She took a step to the side, sweeping her arm at Sans. "May I have the honor of presenting Sans—"

"The emissary from the monster kingdom, honored guest of Church and Crown?" The king rose and took Frisk's hand briefly, studying the skeleton with great interest. "This is a surprise, but I hope it will prove a pleasant one for all concerned. Welcome, Sans."

Sans grunted. Frisk was petrified that that would be all he did, but then he said, fairly politely, "Thanks, Yer Majesty. Sorry if I don't know how to act the exact right way. No disrespect intended, I just didn't get much training fer this."

The king laughed, clapping his hands and sinking back into his chair. "That's quite all right, sir! I haven't been to the Underground in many, many years, but I recall that my exalted counterpart prefers less formality than is practiced in our court." He shifted to look at Frisk. "So, my dear, what is true in this matter, and what is creativity?"

Frisk smiled. "It's true that I had to work to get his attention at first, Majesty, but we didn't battle for three days and nights, and no one was harmed. All I have been doing since then is keeping him in my chambers to learn herbal lore. As of this morning, I am allowing him to accompany me in my duties whenever possible so that he can learn more about humans firsthand."

"Very interesting," said the Cardinal. "I hope, Your Eminence, that this experience shall justify your asserting authority over this monster in our names, without consulting His Majesty or myself beforehand."

She half-bowed. "With great respect, Your Holiness, it was an opportunity not to be wasted. I will take full responsibility for the consequences of my actions, good or ill."

"I see. You've been instructing him in herbal lore, eh?" The red-headed priest chuckled. "And how would you rate his progress thus far?"

"Superb, Your Excellency. He's the most intelligent person I've had the pleasure of working with," she said calmly.

"Oh?" The Cardinal scowled at Sans. "Tell me, sir, what have you learned in your time with our High Priestess?"

His inflection was just condescending enough that Frisk had to bite her tongue—if this was going to work, she had to trust Sans to speak for himself.

Sure enough, the boss monster shrugged and said, offhand, "The exalted lady has instructed me in the rudiments of phytological science, with the ultimate goal of sustainable agricultural improvements. I like the part where it bubbles."

Behind her veil, Frisk couldn't keep from grinning, and it took several seconds to get it under control. One of the guards in the opposite corner coughed, and the King laughed outright. "Thank you, sir. Your point is taken," the Cardinal said stiffly.

"Sans may have valuable information to impart in turn," said Frisk. "I understand that the Underground harnesses the power of wind and sun at least partly in lieu of magic. It would behoove both our races for humans to lessen our dependence on...traditional sources."

"And with this mutually beneficial exchange of ideas and cultural intercourse in mind," Sans said grandly, "I have a request for Yer Holiness. Can you excuse Her Em'nence from midnight services and maybe some of the other ones for the duration of my visit?"

Frisk started, but allowed him to add, "The lady has a lot to teach me, and it'll take a lot of time. Besides, t'be perfectly honest, it feels weird for me to be in church with 'er. I don't wanna distract anyone, either."

The Cardinal tapped his ring of office on the table. "Your zeal is commendable, but you needn't attend services with the High Priestess. Surely you can study or otherwise entertain yourself while she performs her duties?"

Frisk raised a hand to eye level. The men sat up expectantly, and the boss monster looked confused. "Please don't be alarmed, Sans," the young woman said. "This is necessary, and I will take it down the moment we're through." She raised her hand higher and brought it down, snapping her fingers twice.

The skeleton flinched as a golden dome appeared high overhead, forming a sort of bubble around them. "We can speak freely now," said Frisk, and laid a hand on his radius. "You're all right, Sans. All it does is block sound and images."

Sans nodded, but he looked so uncomfortable that she added, "You really need to _lighten_ up."

That got a chuckle, and he stopped fidgeting. The Cardinal and King exchanged glances, and Frisk sobered as she turned back to them. "I barely survived an attempt on my life this morning. The guard at my door was either removed or persuaded to let a man into my rooms when I was at midnight service, and if Sans had not been there, I would be dead. I've retained him as a bodyguard, but he cannot protect me if I leave him in my rooms."

"Ah," said the King. "Is that the origin of the mysterious corpse in the hyacinth garden?"

"It is indeed, Your Highness. The man didn't leave us an opportunity to ask who hired him, so I intend to act as though nothing happened. We'll see if anyone gets frustrated that I'm still alive and behaving normally."

The Cardinal chuckled, and the King gave her a little salute. "Very clever, my dear, but please clarify something for us," said the latter. "How long will Sans be here, exactly?"

"I've said that it would be six weeks, but it will actually be twenty-five days more, Your Majesty."

"Understood. Thank you very much for your service, Sans," the King said gravely.

Sans shrugged. "To be honest, Yer Highness, she's my best option at this point," he replied.

The King smiled thinly. Frisk glanced at the barrier, then said to the Cardinal, "Your Holiness, how long would it take to acquire copies of the Church's ledgers regarding a very specific class of goods?"

The Cardinal looked at Sans, who didn't know why he was being looked at, and at the High Priestess, and her determined expression. "I don't believe that's wise, Your—"

"I beg you to excuse my directness, Your Holiness, but I _will_ have that information, with or without your intercession, and I would much rather do so without raising any suspicions, or prices." Frisk took a deep breath. "If you do, I may find I'll have enough work on my hands to consider retiring within the year. I understand that my friend from St. Brigid's has been studying for the examinations and making excellent progress?"

The King's eyes widened, and His Holiness raised his eyebrows. "Mathilda Owen?" he inquired. "Yes, actually. She should be ready for the last stages by the spring equinox." He rested his head on one fist. "Am I to understand, young lady, that you would seriously consider relinquishing your position in the near future?"

"I think it's an excellent idea, Frisk," the King said quietly. "Next week is an uncomfortable anniversary, and the Prince and I would be very unhappy to have you meet the same fate as your predecessor."

"As would I, Your Majesty," she replied, earning another little smile.

"I understand, High Priestess," the Cardinal murmured. "You may expect the records in question to be forwarded to you shortly after the Feast of All Souls."

"Thank you, Your Holiness." She looked from one man to the other. "Is that all for now, Majesty? Your Holiness?"

"I believe so," said the Cardinal, and the King nodded.

"Thank you very much," Frisk said. She glanced up and clicked her tongue, letting the barrier vanish.

"To answer your request, Sans," the Cardinal said smoothly, "Her Eminence will attend matins every Sunday, and of course the Feast of All Souls, but otherwise, you may dedicate your time to the exchange of agricultural and magical knowledge. We ask only to be kept apprised of your progress, in which Dr. Serif will also be interested."

"Of course, Your Holiness," Frisk assured him, hoping they couldn't tell how disgruntled Sans was.

They took their leave with great cordiality, King Stephin rising to clasp Frisk's hand and give Sans a benevolent nod. The Cardinal was less gracious, but clearly pleased with the conversation, smiling to himself as the great doors closed.

Frisk and Sans were most of the way back to her room before the skeleton said, "What the crap."

"You were wonderful, Sans. Thank you so much." The priestess smiled at him, earning another scowl and mumble. "To answer your questions out of order, the Cardinal has wanted me to step down for a while now. I pay too much attention to where Church funds are going, and he likes for his minions to be able to steal freely. He doesn't seem to know that Mathilda is just as scrupulous as I am, and better at math."

"Lovely. Any chance he's the one who hired the assassin?"

"I thought of that, but it's very unlikely. He's been investigated for embezzlement and similar misdeeds already, and everyone knows he and I don't see eye to eye, so my death would make him look _very_ bad. He could even be tried for it on a circumstantial basis. At the very least, he'd have that suspicion hanging over him for the rest of his career. It simply wouldn't be worth it."

"Gotcha. And this other chick is...?"

"Mathilda? She was my best friend in the convent. I never had visitors on family days, so her parents would take me on picnics with them. We've stayed in touch, and her brother...is also kind," she said quickly, catching herself too late. "Mathilda isn't as gifted as I am with magic, but she's an amazingly hard worker, and she's been practicing the entire time I've been here."

"Good fer her, but I didn't think you could just quit bein' High Priestess an' pass it off. Ya didn't mention that the other night."

"Because I can't just quit bein' High Priestess an' pass it off," she said in a fair imitation of his gravelly voice. "I told you already, I'll have to either accept a similiar position elsewhere, like Mother Superior at a large convent, or get married. I haven't decided which."

"Right. Now, what was all that about the Church and a ledg—wait, _what_?"

Frisk stopped to look at him, unsure if he was joking. "It's not complicated, Sans. I can't stop being High Priestess until I either take on another role in the Church or marry someone. I can't just say, 'I'm tired of this, so I'm going to buy my own private kingdom now and do whatever I want for the rest of my life.'"

His eyes were blank, and she couldn't tell what he was thinking, so she shrugged and started walking again. "I know it doesn't sound fair, but the position of High Priestess comes with a large income, and if we were allowed to leave whenever we liked, that would encourage someone to stay long enough to become wealthy and then abandon the Church. It's happened before."

The boss monster seemed deep in thought, which made no sense to Frisk. "So," she said, "what did you think of the King?"

Sans looked at her sideways, and after a moment, he admitted, "He's not nearly as crappy as I was expecting. Is he that nice all the time, or are you a special case?"

"He can be very kind," Frisk said evenly. "I know him personally because I tutored his son for a few years. Prince Gaius has never been very healthy, and when I first came here as High Priestess, he was using his illness as an excuse to get out of everything. The King asked me to show him how I use sounds to focus my magic, so I spent every other evening in the royal suites until about six or seven months ago. I don't visit very often anymore."

The skeleton nodded. "How old's he now? The kid?"

"Twelve."

"That's _it?_ Isn't the king kinda old to have a son that age? Or is that normal for humans?"

She didn't answer. As they ascended the staircases back to her rooms, Sans said, "And ya mean to tell me humans don't use solar or wind power for anything? You just take whatever magic ya need from us?"

"Not for long," she said, a touch of steel in her voice, and he left it at that.

To their relief, a trolley loaded with breakfast dishes had been left in front of the double doors, the guard standing ready to push it inside for her. "Thank you," Frisk said to him, making Sans go in before he could frighten the man any further. All this, she thought wearily, and it wasn't even nine o'clock yet. Sans had been right: it was going to be a long day.

~

Except, it wasn't. She changed into a more comfortable dress while Sans stretched out on the bed for a few minutes before they ate, trading egg puns and seguing into _cracking_ the books open for a morning of study. The word must have gotten around about her visitor, because no one came to speak with her; the lesson stopped long enough for lunch, then kept right going. Sans had been getting impatient doing recipes for runny noses and papercuts, but put up with it in order to learn the basics, and Frisk was already rewarding his diligence with more interesting subject matter.

"Some of us could really use this," he said, pointing to a section on skin moisturizers. "Not me, obviously, but Pap's best friend is always gettin' itchy 'cause she keeps visiting Hotland and she's, y'know, a fish."

Frisk chuckled. "I can see how that would be a problem. Look here: do you recognize anything with aseptic properties?"

"Yep, glycerin. Makes sense t'find it here if it's a humectant, which..." Flip flip. "Yep! It's a humectant—attracts water. Can ya use it as a preservative?"

"You can, but as usual, it's only effective in certain ratios. It also depends whether it's the type made from soybeans or animal tallow. The differences are—"

And so on. They didn't stop again till mid-afternoon, when Frisk had to speak with the sergeant in charge of her guard rotation. "I offer my sincerest apologies, and I take full responsibility," Sans heard from near the door. He had been tasked with stirring the now-medium-sized cauldron in the middle of the worktable. It rested on a small base that kept it balanced and heated, fueled by a touch of Frisk's magic. "The man on duty last night relieved the previous guard at the correct time, but he wasn't present in the morning, and we haven't been able to find him. I beg forgiveness for this oversight, my lady!"

"Notify me the moment he is found, Sergeant. You are dismissed," Frisk said coldly.

The guy kept whinging about how sorry he was, and after a few seconds, Sans decided it was time to heave a huge sigh. The sound echoed in the room, and in the ensuing pause, Frisk opened the door and shooed the man out. "Thank you," she said, coming back to the table and removing her veil.

"Did I mention yer job sucks?" Sans checked the book and removed the stirrer, tapping it to shake off the last drops. "Can't ya just be a normal witch somewhere?"

"I believe I've told you before, the polite term is 'sorceress,'" the priestess answered, sniffing at the mixture. "And no, I didn't study at a convent for nearly eight years to end up as a village healer. I have nothing against them, but it'd be like a countess marrying a farmer—technically possible, and absolutely not going to happen."

Sans' eye socket twitched. Not very deep down, he felt as irritated as he had when she'd mentioned marriage on the way here, with some bonus aggravation at wasting his feelings on something that he didn't even care about because it was none of his business and he didn't care. "Here's what ya need to do," he said with forced joviality. "Hook up with a farmer or some other schlub. Piss the Church off so bad that they leave y'alone. Hire someone ta bump off Mr. Frisk an' pay the local constable to look the other way. Boom, you're free."

She didn't seem amused. "Let me think about it for a _no,_ Sans."

The boss monster tapped his feet on the rungs of his stool and watched her put on oven mitts. She pulled over a rack of empty vials, picked up the cauldron, and began pouring it out into each one without spilling a drop. "Find somebody rich, then," Sans said carelessly. "That way, you can buy that private kingdom with his money 'n keep yers t'play with. 'Course, you'd have to find somebody first—no offense, there's nothin' wrong with ya, but I honestly dunno what yer supply 'n demand looks like. Do humans think it's weird to get with a former priestess, or...?"

Frisk put down the cauldron and considered him with a half smile, a thoughtful kind of look. "It's funny you should mention that. Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure, why not," he said, nonplussed. "What are pals for?"

That got him a real smile, one of the ones that made him forget thinking. The priestess got up and retrieved a small tray from a side table near the double doors, handing him the top envelope from a stack of letters. "I recognize the crest on this one," she said. "Open it, please, and tell me what Lord Gray wants."

Sans dutifully broke the wax seal, unfolded the expensive paper, and began mumbling out loud, "'Salutations, honored lady. I humbly request blah blah the honor of blah blah blah eternal gratitude blah your hand in marriage'?!"

There were two piles of envelopes on the tray. Frisk picked up one stack, laying them aside on the table. "These are normal letters asking me favors, claiming to be long-lost relatives, making improbable threats—the usual. These? They're proposals. All of them."

The skeleton didn't think she was lying, per se, but to her obvious amusement, he opened each one and skimmed it for certain key words, tossing it aside as soon as he found them. When he'd gone through all of them, Frisk gathered the envelopes up, went to the fireplace, and tossed the armful into the near-overflowing basket. "Dirt. I need to have someone file these for me," she grumbled. "I can't lose track of who's said what and how many times he's asked. It started when I turned twenty-one and became legally independent, and it's gotten to the point where—"

"Good fer you." Sans shifted around and thumped his elbow on the table, startling her silent. "Let's get back t'savin' the world." The skeleton flipped the nearest book to a random page. "Here, this looks crucial to the survival of my entire race. It's...what the hell's an 'oral contraceptive'?"

Frisk stayed quiet for so long that he glanced up. To his surprise, her face was bright red. "I don't think that's high on a monster's list of priorities," she said. "I keep forgetting to ask you, how's your magic feeling? I lowered that barrier when we got back, so you should start regenerating soon. You still can't teleport directly in or out of this room, though."

Sans had no idea what kind of medicine would embarrass her that badly, and made a mental note to look the word up later. "I'm startin' t'get some back, yeah. I should be able to help ya cut down on walkin' time starting tomorrow, if y'like."

"I thank you for the offer, but if makes me as sick as last time, I'd rather walk the whole castle in three-inch heels." Frisk came up beside him and flicked the pages a few times. "We need to take inventory of my supplies. I don't spend much time decanting anymore as a rule, so I'm running out of basics and don't have many specialized items on hand."

The conversation stayed along safe lines from that point on. Dinner came and went; the High Priestess offered to take him for a walk, but Sans had already had his fill of non-Frisk humans for the day and elected instead to soak in the tub for nearly an hour. He actually fell asleep for a bit, until Frisk had to bang on the door and threaten to come in and drag him out. His indifference to the idea – pointing out that skeletons didn't have any private parts – only got him in further trouble.

Later, Sans was sitting on the bed when Frisk emerged from her dressing room in her purple robe, toweling her hair dry. "Bedtime," she announced.

The skeleton yawned. "Sounds good. Want me t'check under your bed for monsters? Or assassins, or whatever?"

Frisk paused mid-rub. "Would you?" she mumbled, cheeks pink.

It was so cute that Sans had to cover himself with a big, emphatic gesture that carried him to his feet. "What'm I bein' paid for if I'm not makin' you feel safe, huh? Here." He strode out and made a big production of flinging open the office doors, revealing the empty couch and a messy desk. "Ta-da! Nothin' but the specter of bureaucracy."

"If only you could save me from that, too. Still, thank you," Frisk said, grinning now. "And I forgot to thank you for getting me out of midnight services for a few weeks. I can sleep in for the first time in months."

"Glad t'service ya." Sans saluted and turned on his heel with a grinding sound. "Night, kiddo." He went back to his room, shut off the light, and lay down, bemused at himself for calling her that. "If she's a kid, you're a real sicko," he mumbled out loud, and fell asleep wondering again what a contraceptive was.

~

They both rose late for another quiet day of study, interrupted only by meals and a trip outside before dinner. There was a lovely little terrace near the kitchens that few people used at this time of year, as there was nowhere to get out of the wind; luckily, Sans couldn't feel the cold, and was happy to stride around without worrying about banging his head on any doorways or low ceilings. The High Priestess' rooms were luxurious enough to have adequate space for him, but as weirdly satisfying as it was to play with plants and cauldrons, and as much as he enjoyed the view across the table, he had to admit it was good to stretch his legbones.

They didn't talk much outside, as Sans went to the railing to survey the outbuildings and orchards down below, while Frisk found a bench that had been in full sun most of the day. She'd brought a black cloak with red lining and a deep hood, and stayed huddled in it while the boss monster wandered around the terrace, each shooing away the occasional enterprising pigeon. When Sans came over to her with a question about the castle's layout, he noticed how tightly she'd pulled the cloak around herself and instead asked, "You cold?"

Frisk nodded, trying not to shiver.

"Well, why'n'tcha say so?" The skeleton extended his hand. "C'mon. Time to eat."

The priestess readily accepted, letting him tug her to her feet. "This is convenient," she said, still holding his hand. "The kitchens are right _eep_!"

In hindsight, Sans had to admit he probably should have warned her before he took them straight back to her rooms, materializing outside the double doors. "Sorry," he said to her, and not to the guard huddled in the corner. "You all right?"

Frisk tried to pull away from him and nearly fell over. "I am not all right!" She dusted herself off with one hand, the other clutching his sleeve. "You almost gave me _and_ this poor man a heart attack, and now someone has to bring our food all the way up here!"

"Oh. Right. Sorry 'bout that." Sans shrugged at the guard, then opened the doors, letting her march into the room unaided. "But hey, yer already doin' better than last time, right?"

Frisk did not deign to answer, electing to stand in front of the fireplace to warm herself. "Right," the skeleton said. "I'll be over here."

Nothing. Her dignified, offended expression was adorable, but it reminded him that he had an unanswered question, and now would be a good time to look it up. There were a few varieties of dictionary on the bookshelves, and he selected the pharmacological one, deftly turning the pages to the middle of C.

In additional hindsight, Sans would tell himself sternly that once he found the definition he was looking for, he could probably have been more tactful than "Oh, fer crap's sake. Do humans really hafta screw that much?"

And he knew he should have anticipated the volume of her reaction, which was none for a moment, then a _"What?!"_ that drilled straight through his skull and bounced around in it for a couple of minutes straight.

While he was standing there, eyes blank as he tried to recover his equilibrium, the beet-red priestess snatched the dictionary out of his phalanges and thrust it back onto the shelf. "All right," she said. "All right. All. Right. First things first: can I assume that you now understand what several of those recipes are intended for?"

"I un'erstand you damn near killed me," Sans complained, patting the side of his skull to be sure it was intact.

"I'm not very sorry, Sans," Frisk retorted. "Putting aside your terminology, I try not to judge monsters for having different physiologies than we do, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't judge humans. Given the way we're made and the number of children we can have in a lifetime, it's best to be able to space them out without having to give up interpersonal relations entirely."

The skeleton knew what he'd read, and what she was saying, but on some level, he was sure he'd misunderstood something. "You mean sex? Like, doin' it just for fun? Monsters know humans go at it a lot more than we do, but we always figured you just want a lot of kids."

He'd meant it honestly, which must have been why Frisk didn't kill him on the spot. She took a deep breath and said as calmly as possible, "I infer that this is not the case among monsters?"

"Hell, no. We don't toss magic around like that," he said, highly offended.

Frisk pulled the hood of her cloak back up and turned away, but he'd seen her trying not to laugh. "I don't know how much monsters are taught about human reproduction, but I can assure you that there's no magic involved, as such. It's an entirely physical process." She cleared her throat. "Monsters have to invest their magic before you can have children?"

"Well, yeah. If two monsters want a kid, it takes a lot of time and effort, 'specially if they're really different shapes or sizes. They have to wanna be parents pretty bad for it to work."

"Interesting. Humans don't have to intend anything. If anything, we have to intend _not_ to. If certain actions are taken, pregnancy can result unless specifically prevented. It's as simple as that."

Sans mulled it over. When viewed through that lens, the little he knew about human behavior – especially men's – made a lot more sense. It was bizarre and at least somewhat gross, but it made sense.

The priestess was still facing the fireplace. "Is it the same for boss monsters?" she asked, failing to sound casual.

The skeleton didn't know how to answer that, and the silence was getting awkward when they heard a knock on the door. "Heyyy, din-din," he said brightly, rushing to open it and scaring the life out of the poor woman pushing the trolley.

By unspoken accord, they didn't revisit the subject. He was pretty sure she was still thinking about it, though, and when they parted for the night, he had to admit that it was kind of funny—each of them obviously wanted to ask the other more stuff, but wasn't going to be the one to bring it back up. Maybe tomorrow, he told himself, not believing a word of it.

The barrier against external dreams was still up in the bedroom, but that night, he had one on his own. It was pretty simple: he dreamed he was a priest of some sort, but mostly a farmer? Anyway, he lived with his wife and several kids who kept going in and out the door and getting older each time they came back. Every time they did, he also got a little older, but his wife didn't; the more wrinkly he got, the more she laughed at him, pinching his face and offering to make him oatmeal or prune juice. He didn't mind, though. It was impossible to be mad when she was so sweet about it.


	5. The Doctor and the Child

Sans had gotten used to waking up in a luxurious, his-sized bed, and after a full week with the High Priestess, he felt he could handle being stuck in the humans' castle for twenty-three more days; it was amazing to sleep so soundly, and he could think of about a million worse fates than spending his waking hours with Frisk. What he could _not_ handle was having a really wonderful dream like that, only to wake up wifeless, childless, and absolutely certain he'd remain that way for the rest of his unnatural life.

He tried not to blame Frisk for it, he really did, but as he emerged from his room, she was sitting at the worktable in her robe with another goddamn proposal in hand, as if to taunt him. "Good...morning," she said. "Are you all right?"

"F'fn m'rg," he muttered.

"I see. I didn't sleep well, either." When he didn't respond, the priestess shrugged and went back to her letter.

The boss monster sat down at the worktable and selected a book at random, trying to shake off the feeling of his dream-wife messing with his face. Less than five minutes later, someone knocked at the door; Sans started to sweep books and mixing tools aside to make room for breakfast, but Frisk shook her head as she got up. "It's Sunday, and I have matins in less than an hour. We won't get fed till afterwards. One minute, please!"

She was about halfway across the room when Sans sat bolt upright: the bar across the doors was lifting itself, and the double doors swung open from the outside. "Good morning," said a soft, scratchy voice.

"Er...good morning, Dr. Serif," Frisk said as the man walked in. "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you." Though the worktable had several chairs pushed beneath it at widely spaced intervals, the doctor sat down next to Sans, ignoring the skeleton's glare and addressing Frisk: "When I informed His Majesty that I would be coming here this morning, he asked me to tell you that he and the Prince will be attending matins. I've brought several men to escort you to the chapel as soon as you're ready."

The High Priestess blinked, and said, "I see." She picked up her veil and headdress from the edge of the worktable. "Please excuse me, then."

Sans waited for her to disappear into her dressing room before he rounded on the royal sorcerer, resisting the urge to grab him by the neck. "What the hell are you doin' here, ya creepy bastard? You steal my magic 'n make Frisk use it, ya come here without askin' and open doors all by yerself—and how come we need a bunch of extra guys to go t'church all of a sudden?"

"She needs them because you will be staying here," said Dr. Serif, unperturbed. "We have several things to discuss, many of which do not directly concern Her Eminence and needn't come to her attention. She already has enough responsibilities for three women."

Sans couldn't argue with that, but he could and did tell the guy, "Hell with you. I'm not interested in anythin' ya have to say."

The doctor shrugged. "Very well. I will only ask you to listen to one word." He reached into his robe and retrieved the end of a very long, thin golden chain hanging from his neck, twisted the chain once around his finger, and pulled—

His face blurred and his hand melted, the flesh sliding off like warm wax. Beneath his pale human features was a long, bone-white, masklike face with black slashes above and beneath his hollow eyes, lipless mouth curving into a grin. His now-bony hand rose in greeting, chain twined around his phalange, its end dangling through the hole in his palm. "Boo," whispered the skeleton.

The door to Frisk's dressing room cracked open. "Shall I wait for you two, Dr. Serif?" she called. "Or will you keep Sans here and deprive him of another hour in church?"

The doctor dropped the chain and was human again. "Indeed, my lady," he said. "I am sorry to disappoint our visitor, and those who will come to see him for themselves, but I understand that monsters employ methods of collecting magical energy that would benefit us greatly. I wish to hear it from the horse's mouth."

"That's probably for the best. He's told me the basics, but I'm not an expert in metallurgy or alchemy, so I'm afraid most of it is over my head." Frisk closed the door behind her, settling her veil in place. "If nothing else, Sans can have a break from me. I think we've been getting along fairly well, but he's probably tired of being lectured." She paused by the edge of the worktable, where Sans was frozen in place. "Well, Sans? Shall I get out of your _hair_ now?"

He was still reeling from what he'd seen, and only vaguely aware that he had to say something leaving-related. "Yeah, bye," he muttered.

He didn't see her start, or how her head ducked as she turned and left. The moment the doors closed, the royal sorcerer removed the chain from around his neck, setting it on the table and scowling at Sans like a disappointed teacher. "You realize you've hurt her feelings very much?" The slashes above and below his right and left sockets creased in disapproval. "No. You don't, do you."

"Well, you're hurting my fuckin' brain, ya—ow!"

Something had immediately smacked Sans in the back of the skull. He whipped around to see a disembodied hand hovering in the air, wagging a skeletal finger in disapproval before it vanished. "I will _not_ tolerate rudeness," the doctor said severely. "Is that clear, young skeleton?"

The boss monster felt as if someone had pulled the floor out from beneath him. "Yeah, I guess so. That's about the only thing I do get right now."

"Understandable. I will begin by asking this, Sans: do you recognize me?"

That was a good question. The longer Sans looked at him, the less certain he was. "You...honestly, it feels like I used ta have nightmares with you in 'em, but I've had so many others since then that ya can't keep up. Competition's pretty stiff in here." He tapped his skull.

The doctor chuckled. "I see. Does the name 'W. D. Gaster' sound familiar?"

Sans flinched, and he didn't know why. He just knew that he wanted to open his head up and scrub the insides till the name was gone. "Not...really," he managed. "'Zat you?"

"More or less." Gaster half turned in his chair and snapped his fingers. Two more hands appeared at the windows, unlatching them and pushing them open to let the chill morning air stream in. "This is an informal meeting, principally to get acquainted again. We can start with this." He picked up the golden chain and held it out for Sans' inspection. "To the best of my knowledge – and I pride myself on thoroughness – there are no similar devices in use by any other monster in this kingdom. You should not be surprised in this fashion again."

"I sure fu—flippin' hope not," Sans remarked. "Whaddya mean, 'get acquainted again'?"

"Ah, you caught that. Well done." Gaster's mouth curved again. "We've met before, but you were so young that I'm not surprised you don't remember. The next question: would you like to have a device of your own, and the ability to appear human?"

Sans prided himself on not being dumb, but this was way too much, too fast. Gaster must have seen it in his expression, because he raised his palmless hands in a conciliatory gesture. "My apologies. I have been looking forward to this meeting for a long, long time, and I may be overly enthusiastic. I'll ask an easier question—did you kill the man found in the gardens yesterday?"

The boss monster put a hand to his skull, as if he could manually collect his thoughts. "The guy jumped. Didn't the King tell ya?"

"His Majesty told me what _he_ was told, yes. Did Her Eminence see the assassin jump rather than give himself up, or did you throw him out the window after you squeezed him eighty-percent to death?" Gaster raised a finger as Sans started to protest. "Don't waste my time or yours, boy. The gentleman may have landed in an unhealthy fashion, but that does not explain the uniformly horizontal bruising across his front and back, or how he struck face-first and still managed to crack most of his thoracic vertebrae. His injuries were consistent with a very large hand doing a very large amount of damage before his fall."

Sans wasn't sorry, and he saw no reason to either lie or volunteer more information. He stared at Gaster, daring him to say anything more, and the royal sorcerer shook his head. "No, I will not judge you for taking drastic measures to save the High Priestess. The man was carrying three large knives and two empty sheaths, which suggests he was very serious in his purpose. Nor do I intend to trouble His Majesty or Frisk with this information, unless perhaps I find out that you crushed the man to pulp right in front of her."

"Hell, no, I didn't," Sans snapped. "Ya think I wanted her ta feel any more messed up than she already was? I didn't even let the f—the guy scream on the way down. She didn't hear anything, an' she didn't see anythin' after I got him outta the room." He drummed his fingertips on his femur. "And don't use her name. 's weird."

Gaster's brow twitched. "That answers that. Thank you."

The boss monster felt like something had gone over his head, and he was about to demand more information when Gaster raised his finger again. "One moment. Do you hear that?"

Very faint choir music was coming through the open windows. "Yeah, I know," Sans said impatiently. "When they get sick of talkin', they do that instead. It all sucks."

"Not necessarily," murmured the doctor. "This particular hymn includes a solo, and with the King in attendance, they'll use their best performer. Listen."

Sans didn't get it till the hymn faded to almost nothing and it seemed as if the song was over. He was thinking of his next question when a single voice rose through the stillness and his head turned of its own volition. His feet made him get up and cram one shoulder out the window to follow the sound, heedless of the floor creaking underfoot.

Sure enough, it was a lone woman singing. The words were indistinct, but the sound sent prickles running over his skull and down his spine; her high notes were perfect, and while he could barely hear the lower tones, they were somehow even better. When the last note died away, he wanted to jump out and yell for whoever it was to keep going.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Gaster was leaning on the other window, arms folded on the sill, head propped up on a spare hand. "I've missed hearing her in the mornings."

Sans hurriedly scratched the corners of his sockets, which somehow felt itchy. "Yeah, I guess s'not bad for a human," he said, trying to sound careless, though he couldn't help adding, "Kinda wasted in a church."

The doctor chuckled again, stepping away from the windowsill. "An increasingly common opinion, as you are doubtless aware by now."

Before Sans could ask what the hell that meant, Gaster glanced meaningfully at the boss monster's face and hand. Sans followed his gaze and saw why: his phalanges were stained bright red. "Wha..." Had he hurt himself? Sans grabbed the corner of his sleeve and swiped at his eyes, pulling it away to reveal more streaks of red. "What the crap is this?"

Gaster was very quiet. Then he reached into his robe and produced a folded white square. "Here," he said. Sans looked at it blankly. "It's a handkerchief, my boy," the doctor explained. "For drying tears."

~

The walk back to her rooms after the service was more irritating than usual. Frisk was thirsty, her calf was beginning to cramp from walking at the four guards' pace, and there was no one to talk to—just like old times, she thought with a twinge of dismay. She was reconsidering the merits of Sans' magic when they reached the double doors and she could all but run inside.

"Greetings, my lady," said Dr. Serif, raising his head from a series of drawings scattered across the worktable. There were tiny words and numbers scribbled all over, and even at a glance, the notations were beyond her. "If you'll allow us a moment, we'll clear the table. Breakfast should be here any moment."

"Thank you," she said. "I'll be out as soon as I extricate myself." Dr. Serif gave his odd half-smile, while Sans didn't so much as look up.

Well, at least changing into a looser dress made her feel better, as did kicking off her slippers and enjoying the strange walking-in-pits feeling of removing heeled shoes. Technically, she knew she should keep her veil on, but the prospect made her want to eat the damn thing. It wasn't as if the royal sorcerer was going to tell on her, and she almost never wore it around Sans anymore—not that he cared either way.

...Good Lord. When was the last time she'd felt this crabby? _He must be rubbing off on me_ , she thought wryly.

Dr. Serif had poured a tall glass of water for her. Frisk came out, seized it from his hand, and drank the whole thing at once, setting it down with a bang and a sigh. "Thank you very much, Doctor."

"I had a suspicion you wouldn't be allowed time to care for yourself after the service," he remarked. Sans was still looking at a sheet of paper, at least until the doctor plucked it out of his hand and set it on a stack of notes. "I hear something in the hall. Sans?"

The skeleton grumbled, but got up to open the doors as Frisk sat by the doctor. "It looks as though you've made some progress. In your opinion, are these ideas practicable?"

"I believe so, yes," he replied. "Based on what Sans has told me, we could possibly convert some of our existing infrastructure for this purpose. We will need more detailed specifications, but I thank you for allowing me to borrow Sans and attain a starting point."

"And thank you for giving him a break," she said, drawing on all of her training to keep from sounding petulant.

It must not have worked, because the doctor sighed. "That was a very natural misunderstanding on your part, my lady. He and I had words while you were getting dressed, and it distracted him. I doubt that he genuinely wanted you gone. In fact, he's been checking the clock every ten minutes since you left."

Frisk felt herself flushing. "I didn't—"

"Watch out," said Sans, and as they sat back, the dishes flew off the trolley in a burst of red magic, settling neatly onto the table. "There. What's this about me 'n the clock?"

"Nothing whatsoever," the doctor said genially. "Her Eminence is back, by the way."

Sans glowered at him, and glanced at Frisk for the first time since she'd come in. "Yep. You can go now, Doc." He made a shooing gesture, then came back to the table, pulled over a random dish, and began shoveling the food in.

Dr. Serif looked ready to hit the skeleton upside the head. "You were marvelous, as always, Your Eminence," he said loudly. "It's been a long time since you performed at matins, hasn't it?"

Frisk paused mid-stab, rearranging her tomato slices into an angrier pattern. "You can hear the chapel from all the way up here?" Stab. "Would you like something to eat, Doctor?"

"Nothing for me, thank you. On a clear day with little wind, yes, the sound carries quite far."

The priestess couldn't help grimacing. "That's good to know." She got up for another drink. "I had to chat with His Majesty and Gaius for almost twenty minutes after the service. My throat is killing me," she said over her shoulder.

When Frisk turned around, Dr. Serif was not looking at her, but at Sans, who had slowly raised his head. "Hold on a sec," the skeleton said. He shifted to face her. "That was you?"

His obvious disbelief made her want to dunk her head in the water pitcher, and perhaps also throw it at him. "I...yes? It was my turn to take that solo," she said to her plate, and crammed a wad of egg into her mouth.

"Your turn, indeed." Dr. Serif raised his eyebrows at Sans. "Her Eminence is aggressively modest about her vocal talent. You won't hear her again until the Feast of All Souls in three days, and she will do her best to get out of it."

Frisk swallowed, coughed, and said sharply, "Doctor, please." What was he doing?

"Forgive me, my lady." He rested his head on his hand, dark eyes studying her. "Speaking of All Souls Day, I've discussed the matter with Sans in his capacity as your personal guard, but I also wanted to give you a direct word of caution. We may need to employ unorthodox methods to ensure your safety, as you will have an unavoidably public role in the ceremony. Will you agree to comply with whatever measures we may deem necessary?"

That sounded ominous, but Frisk had already been trying not to think of the upcoming holy day, or the dead assassin, or how the prospect of being murdered was no longer an abstract concept. "I'll leave it to you and Sans, Doctor. Thank you for your concern."

"Of course, Your Eminence. Now, with your permission, I'd like to briefly review what you've taught Sans thus far. St. Brigid's is unparalleled in its instructional quality, so I have no doubt as to your knowledge or capability. However—"

Sans banged his empty plate onto a tray, startling them both. "Thanks, Doc. Go away."

"Sans!" the priestess snapped. "What's gotten into you? Do I have to send you to your room?"

Dr. Serif raised his hands good-naturedly and got to his feet. "All right, you can have her to yourself again. But I would like to consult with both of you at least once every day. May I come here in the morning, or is the afternoon more convenient?"

"Either is fine now that I'm excused from most of the services," Frisk answered. She pinned Sans with a glare. "Do you have a preference?"

The skeleton grumble-shrugged. "Splendid," said Dr. Serif. "I will see you tomorrow morning after breakfast, then." He bowed slightly. "My lady."

Frisk rose to walk him out of the room and into the hall. To her surprise, Dr. Serif gestured for the guard to move away, and when the man was out of earshot, the royal sorcerer lowered his voice. "Forgive my asking, but when you spoke with the King, what did he say about Sans?"

The priestess crossed her arms at the waist, and uncrossed them. "He asked how Sans was behaving towards me. I told him I'm not in any danger, but I don't know if he believes it."

To her shock, the doctor laughed. "That was not what he meant, Your Eminence," he said. "I _fully_ agree that Sans bears you no ill will. However, surely you have noticed that he is...we'll say, potentially unstable? I checked the potions you've recently made, and didn't sense his magic in any of them. Have you allowed him to infuse anything yet?"

At this point, Frisk couldn't even try to keep her emotions off her face. If nothing else, she thought bitterly, it'd save time.

"I see. Those who witnessed your initial encounter with him said you stopped him in his full attack without violence. I hate to put responsibility for his actions on your shoulders," the doctor continued, "but as you know, Sans is much too powerful to be allowed to lose control of himself again. There can be no peace between humans and monsters if your emissary destroys any human life or property while he is here, or if he even frightens anyone too much."

"No, of course not." Frisk shifted her bare feet on the marble floor. "He's being difficult today, but as I said – or at least, I thought – we've been working together well enough. He's an excellent student, and he has a sense of humor. I'm certainly not afraid of him anymore."

"Hmm." The doctor was plainly skeptical. "You don't feel threatened by having such a large monster in your living space? Does he seem apprehensive about your barriers?"

"As a matter of fact, I trust him enough now to have taken down several of them. When I created one so that we could talk privately with the King, he handled it fairly well."

The doctor's eyes grew very wide. "You kept him inside a barrier, and he tolerated it?"

"I...told him it was all right, and I made a bad pun. It seemed to work."

For some reason, Dr. Serif muttered something curse-like under his breath, then said, "I beg your pardon, my lady, but that is extraordinary, especially considering he's been under your care for only a week. Monsters are absolutely terrified of barriers, no matter their size or strength, and he knows firsthand that he cannot break yours. Whatever you are doing to foster trust between you, by all means, continue to do so." He turned as if to go, and paused. "One more thing, Your Eminence. Has he told you how he became a boss monster? There should be none but their King and Queen."

Frisk shook her head. "I tried to ask about it, and he got upset."

"Indeed. Thank you very much for your time. I will see you tomorrow." He strode off down the hall, allowing the guard to return to his post.

Any hope of Sans behaving better with the doctor gone was dashed the moment she came back in. "How come ya don't like singin'?" The skeleton sounded almost accusing. "If I could do that, I'd never shut up."

"That's none of your business." The priestess busied herself collecting dirty dishes and loading them up.

Another cloud of red lifted the trays out of her hands and dumped them back on the trolley with an unholy clatter. The doors opened, the trolley rolled itself out to the hall, and the doors creaked shut. "There, all done. So does it take a lotta magic or somethin'? I noticed ya don't make as much noise around here now that there's not as many barriers ta keep up."

 _Noise?_ "Drop it, Sans. I'm not going to ask you again," she warned, coming to sit across from him.

Pause. Frisk could actually see him think about it and then decide to keep right on going. "I didn't think you were the shy type. Yer willin' t'stand up in front of a zillion people and tell 'em not to be scared of the big bad skeleton, you got _me_ right where ya want me, and ya talk to th' most important guys in the kingdom like it's nothin', so how're—"

That did it. She was so furious that she had to fight the urge to throw a barrier in his face. Instead, she inhaled, stuck her thumb and forefinger in her mouth, and gave an ear-splitting whistle.

And that was how Frisk learned an interesting fact about skeletons: they didn't have ears, but when faced with a completely unexpected and shrill sound – not just being shouted at – they still instinctively tried to cover the sides of their head, and at least one of them also yelled, "What the fuckin' crap was that for?!"

"First, watch your language, and second, it was for being a giant hypocrite! I haven't made you tell me how you're a boss monster, and when I want you to stop asking me a personal question, I expect the same courtesy!"

"Are you seriously comparin' my life bein' ruined with yer stupid 'Wahh, I'm a perfect fairy-tale princess, don't listen to me'?"

"This is not a contest! I know what I've experienced and how I feel about it, and it has nothing to do with you!" She slammed her palms on the table, standing up so that she didn't have to keep craning her neck to look at him. "We may be familiar with one another by now, but that does not give you the right to say whatever you want to me! Do you understand?"

Sans was still rubbing his skull. "Not like it matters," he muttered. "Yer the boss, right?"

"Oh, please! Haven't you ever had a friend before, Sans? A real one? Have you ever learned to treat someone with basic respect?"

"Not a damn human!" The skeleton also sprang to his feet, towering over her with eyes aflame. "Excuse me if I hurt your widdle feewings askin' a stupid-ass question!"

"You hurt my feelings because you showed me that you don't care about them! Don't you dare blame this on my being human, Sans! You're wrong, and you _damn_ well know it!"

He snarled, lowering his head until his jagged teeth and the blinding orange-red of his eyes were less than a foot from hers. The effect was terrifying, but Frisk was too angry to remember the doctor's warning about letting the boss monster lose control; the only thing that mattered was standing her ground. "Don't you give me that look!" He wanted to win by being bigger, did he? Frisk put one foot on her chair, stepped onto the table, and, as Sans blinked in confusion, reached down to jab a finger into his sternum. "What are you going to do? Bully me until I'm as afraid of you as every other human you've met? Think of another plan, because that's not going to work!"

The ferocious light went out like a candle. For just a moment, Sans looked as though a tree had sprouted in front of him full-grown and then fallen on his head. He stepped back, mumbled, "'Kay," and went into the bedroom, shutting the door.

Frisk stood in the middle of the table, her pulse racing, not sure whether to cry or step down and _then_ cry. She swallowed several times, but it didn't help.

Damn him. The bedroom was an upset woman's native habitat, and he had stolen it. There was the couch, but it wasn't the same. Besides, even if she understood on a grown-up level that the assassin was gone, she was still afraid to open the office door without Sans there.

At a loss, Frisk sat on the edge of the table, letting her feet dangle as she surveyed her domain. The room had gotten even messier in the past week. If Sans had the power to put dishes away instantaneously, he'd have enough to put all these books and papers away for her, too. Maybe she could make him organize her proposals while he was at it.

Proposals. For the thousandth time, Frisk wondered if it was time to stop ignoring them and start making a list of men she might actually consider accepting. She hadn't told Sans how few positions in the Church were suitable for her current rank, or that the likeliest ones were all lifetime commitments, a fate more lonely and boring than death. She'd been so scared but so excited to become High Priestess, where she'd do so much good and be known and loved by so many people; no one had reminded her that being up on a pedestal meant being utterly alone, not to mention exposed to anyone below who wanted to push her off.

Maybe that was why she had imagined her resident boss monster being smitten with her, why she'd been so hurt by him trying to escape, and why she felt so awful now. Frisk knew he had no social skills whatsoever, and he'd probably thought he was complimenting her in some backhanded, childish fashion, but leave it to Sans to turn being "perfect" into an insult.

No, the choice between the Church and marriage wasn't much of a choice at all. She was very tired of her pedestal, and she wasn't going to trade it for one so high that she couldn't come down again. If she chose the right husband, she could do as much or more for people in need than she already was, and she wouldn't be doing it alone. Even if she and her future spouse were well-to-do and had busy schedules, she'd have company in the evenings, not to mention nights and mornings in bed, which there was no shame in looking forward to! Then there'd be children, a family of her own...

Frisk sighed, massaging her neck and turning it toward the window, then the door. For the briefest and most frustrated of moments, she contemplated sending the skeleton back to the Underground now, perhaps tomorrow morning. He'd learned enough and given the royal sorcerer enough information; surely she could get rid of him in good conscience, and he wouldn't have the chance to hurt her ag—

The child from her nightmares was sitting inches away from her on the edge of the table. It was smiling, eyes shining red, kitchen knife in hand and all its little teeth bared.

Every hair on Frisk's body stood straight up, and her breath came quick and shallow. She tried to push herself off the table, to yell at it to go away, but her muscles were locked in place. All she could do was watch as the child lifted the knife, pointing it straight at the bedroom door, eyes never leaving hers. The child slowly lowered the knife, turned the blade around in its hands, and held the handle out to her.

Frisk's hand twitched. A tiny part of her knew that if she tried, if she really wanted to, she could move enough to grab the knife. But...why?

Something bubbled up in the back of her mind, whispering that even a boss monster was no match for a determined human. She knew exactly what to do: shuffle into the room with her head down and her hands behind her back, creep in close to tell Sans how sorry she was, and bring him down in one swift crimson slash. It'd be so easy!

The child was still smiling, still holding out the knife. Frisk moved her hand, raising it slowly, and the child's grin somehow widened.

Frisk leaned forward. She reached up, and with every shred of determination she possessed, she turned her hand toward herself, jammed her fingers in her mouth, and whistled as hard as she could. The child only had time for one furious glare before it vanished.

The bedroom door banged open. "What the hell d'ya want now?" demanded the skeleton, stepping into the workroom. "I'm not a damn dog! If ya need something, just...oh, shit—" Sans dropped to one knee next to where she'd crumpled onto the floor, shaking, her hand pressed to her mouth. "Frisk! Hey!" He reached for her shoulder, thought better of it, and looked around, as if for help. "Come on, Frisk! Look, I'm sorry, a'right? I know, I shoulda listened to you! I'll shut up next time ya tell me, I swear! Just knock it off!"

Frisk shook her head, tried to speak, and couldn't suppress a sob. Sans considered her from a couple different angles, said, "Incoming," then carefully scooped her up and walked into the bedroom, setting her down on the edge of the bed and sitting on the floor. "I'm sorry," he said again, wincing as she turned her back to him and curled up with her face buried in the pillow. "'m sorry, okay? You were right. I wasn't thinkin' of how ya felt, just bein' a nosy prick. I _really_ don't want ya to be scared of me. Ya don't hafta tell me anythin' if you don't want, I just..."

Something in his tone made her wipe one eye and raise her head far enough to look at him. He was staring at the bedpost. "'s not an excuse for how I acted, but..." Sans shrugged helplessly. "I really, really wish you liked ta sing."

Silence. Then, to his abject horror, Frisk clutched the pillow and began wailing incoherently into it, sobbing in earnest.

"Aw, fuck! I mean—Frisk—" The skeleton opened his mouth and shut it several times. He stood up, paced out of the room and back again, and sat down as the noise continued. "What'd I do now?!"

No answer. Sans tried to think of something, anything to make her stop. "Uh...can I get ya anything?" he asked lamely.

She quieted long enough to shake her head and kept right on crying. Sans scratched the back of his skull, glancing at the windows – still too small to jump out – and finally, against his better judgment, sat on the edge of the bed. "Hey. Ya know that explosion that killed all those people? Asriel, Chara, a bunch of humans, couple'a monsters?"

That got her attention. Frisk sat up, scrubbing her eyes on her sleeve. "What?" A protracted sniffle. "What about it?"

"That day, me 'n Papyrus came to the gala with Kris, and we were way at the back. For some reason, Kris took off into the crowd, an' I was smaller than Pap, so I went after the little bugger." Sans looked at his massive hand. "Next thing I knew, there was this big damn flash of light and I got knocked down. I don't know what happened after that—it hurt like hell, but I was thinkin' of Pap and wondering where Kris was, and then I woke up in the lab."

Frisk sniffled, but she was listening. Sans clicked his phalanges on the bedpost. "The best explanation Alphys and I came up with was that I was determined ta stay alive, but a monster's body can't handle too much determination. I mean, if we feel a lot of it, we literally melt like butter. Al's not sure if I held together because I absorbed little bits of human SOUL as they died, or if I somehow converted some of the ambient magic, or what. Nothin' really makes sense. It sure didn't happen to anyone else who was there. But me? I was on the way to becomin' my bee-yootiful new self." He gestured grandly, back still to her. "The end."

The priestess scooted closer, pillow tucked under one arm. "You said it ruined your life?"

"Hell yes, it did. I got too big to fit in my own damn house! I have to take a shortcut into the living room because I can't fit through the friggin' door!" Sans kicked at nothing. "The other monsters are scared of me 'cause I keep losin' my temper 'n I look scary as hell, Asgore treats me like I'm tryin' to take Toriel from 'im when all I wanna do is tell jokes with someone...oh, and ya know what?" He shifted around to nearly face her. "Remember what I said about monsters havin' kids with magic, and how it's always a pain in the butt?" She nodded, wiping her eyes again. "Well, lucky me, I'm too strong t'even try it. If I was a lady boss monster, I could handle someone else's magic and make a little Sans, no problem, but no. If I tried givin' anyone enough to get the job done, there's no guarantee I wouldn't overdo it and kill 'er." Shrug. "Boss monsters are supposed t'have kids with each other so they can transfer their life force and age naturally as the kid gets older. I'm just gonna live forever as a damn freak."

"You're not a freak. You're Sans." Frisk gave an unlovely _snrk._ "Thank you for telling me this, but you know you didn't have to."

"Yeah, I know." The skeleton turned around the rest of the way, crossing his legs on the bed. "I'm not tryin' to trade it for your pers'nal business, either."

She smiled a little, and his SOUL lifted a little higher. "My story's not nearly that interesting. My mother said something very cruel the first time I sang for her as a child, and no matter how many people since then have told me how wonderful I sound, there's no getting rid of that feeling that they're all wrong. That's all."

"Yikes. I wouldn't say it's 'all,' not if you were a kid an' you were trusting your own damn mom to not be an asshole. That crap really hurts. I shouldn'a said it was stupid."

"Agreed, but I accept your apology." Frisk sighed, tucking the pillow under her chin to rest her head on it. "I've been feeling sorry for myself because being High Priestess is so isolating, but at least I can get out of it. Isn't there anything you can do?"

"Nope! I can't get hitched and stop bein' a boss monster. We've tried a bunch of different things, and it's irreversible. We can't exactly replicate the accident to make me a lady friend, either."

"No..." The priestess yawned. "No, I expect not. I'm sorry."

"Not yer fault. Not anyone's, so far as we know."

Frisk curled up on her side with a sigh, facing him this time, cuddling the pillow. "I'm glad we had this talk, but I suppose we should get to work soon."

Sans had never wanted to be a pillow so badly. "Isn't it Sunday? Why not take the day off? I vote for a nap and then a game of chess or something."

"Mm." The priestess frowned at a rip in the silken bedsheet, probably caused by his toe catching it. "You know how to play chess?"

"Nope. You can teach me."

Frisk chuckled. "It's a deal." She couldn't help yawning again. "All right, you win. Escort me to my office, please, and I'll get to work on that nap. It's been about a year since I had one."

The boss monster paused, and said, "I feel bad takin' this thing up when yer crashin' on the couch like a houseguest. You take it. There's a lotta floor space fer me out there."

The priestess looked over the huge expanse of mattress, remembering the child and the knife, wondering when she'd feel safe again. On impulse, she hopped over the foot of the bed, landing in front of a cedar chest under the windows and opening it to rummage through the blankets. "I'm fine," Sans informed her. "It takes bein' out in the snow for a while 'fore I get cold."

"It's not for you," Frisk said cheerfully. "Come with me for a moment."

Bemused, the boss monster followed her to the office and the couch. At her instruction, he held out his arms for her to fill up with cushions. Then it was back to the bedroom, where she made him place the cushions on the side of the bed away from the door, holding them up so she could throw a large quilt over them. "There we are! You, sir, are sleeping on the bed. I am sleeping in a pillow fort. There's no impropriety whatsoever."

Sans had so many objections that they all tried to get out his mouth at once. By the time he could say, "I don' think that'd hold up in court," Frisk had already disappeared into her fort.

The mattress was not only wide, but so plush that he could have jumped on the bed without disturbing her arrangement. The skeleton tapped the light off, then lay down in his usual spot near the middle of the bed. He couldn't stretch his arm on that side now, but otherwise, there was still plenty of room. When she sniffled again – in a residual kind of way – Sans remembered the handkerchief, and wished he hadn't used so much of it. It was her fault, having that kind of voice out of nowhere.

Silence settled over them, but it was a comfortable one. Sans closed his eyes, tried to think of something else to say, and decided not to bother: judging by her breathing, Frisk was already asleep.


	6. All Souls Day, Part 1

Two days later, the royal sorcerer walked slowly down the hallway to the High Priestess' quarters, deep in thought. Before he rounded the last corner, he used a hand to pull out a mirror and check his reflection, and then approached the guard outside the double doors. "How are they this evening?" asked Dr. Serif.

The guard saluted. "Very well, sir," he replied. "There's little to report, except that she's had far more correspondence than usual. The...gentleman took her elsewhere in his usual fashion after dinner, and they returned about twenty minutes ago."

The doctor half-smiled. "His magic is fully functional, then?"

"Yes, sir, but I believe they spend most of their time studying. It's been very quiet and—"

From inside the room came a massive thud, a bellow of laughter, and Frisk's voice raised in shrieking indignation. "Peaceful," the guard mumbled.

Dr. Serif sighed. Rather than summon a hand to raise the bar again, he rapped on the doors.

A full twenty seconds later, the priestess answered, pink in the face. "Good evening, Doctor," she said, sending a death glare over her shoulder as Sans kept snickering. "Please come in."

The cause of the ruckus turned out to be an upturned chessboard in the middle of the worktable, pieces scattered across the carpet and the red queen sitting in the basket on the hearth. "It's a lovely evening to spend cheating," Frisk snapped.

"I don't..." Sans could barely breathe. "I dunno what yer talkin' about, everyone knows...chess pieces like ta _pawn_ themselves off as somethin' else!"

Frisk gave another _snrrrk_ before she could stop herself. "Well, I hope chess pieces like fire, because that's what they'll get the next time I catch you swapping your queen around when I'm finally about to win!" She stabbed a finger at the chessboard. "Now clean up this mess!"

"Why me? Yer the one who threw a fit n'—"

"Children, please." They stopped guiltily as the royal sorcerer picked his way across the floor and seated himself at the worktable. Sans raised a hand, and the chessboard flipped right side up, all the pieces collecting themselves from around the room and landing neatly on their own squares. "I apologize for my absence this morning," said Dr. Serif. "With the Feast imminent, I've had to rush to finish several projects." He pulled two small boxes from his robe, handing one to Frisk and tossing the other to Sans. "Here is another emergency use of Sans' teleportation magic, my lady. I took the liberty of setting it in a piece that will be aesthetically fitting."

Frisk peeked in the box. "Goodness," she said, surprised. "This is beautiful! Thank you, Dr. Serif."

"When are you gonna stop passin' my stuff out like candy?" growled the boss monster.

"You're welcome, Your Eminence," the doctor said over him. "I apologize, but I would like to speak to Sans privately. Would you kindly deprive us of your presence for about ten minutes?"

"Certainly." Frisk took the box and headed to her dressing room. "I may as well lay out my things for tomorrow. Thank you again, Doctor."

The royal sorcerer nodded graciously. The moment her door closed, he plucked at his neck, human facade dissolving into bone. Before Sans could speak, Gaster said crisply, "I have very specific instructions for you. Bring your device into the bathroom. Lock the door. Turn your back to the mirror. Put the device around your neck. Look down at yourself and _do not make any noise_ or otherwise overreact to what you see. Do not touch any part of your body except to remove the device. Do not leave the bathroom until you have removed the device. If any of these things are not possible, skip the remaining steps and remove the device. Do you have any questions?"

Sans opened his box and scowled at the short, neatly coiled chain therein. "Why's it smaller than yours?"

"I meant any _good_ questions. If not, then do as I say."

The boss monster stared at Gaster. Gaster stared back. With an almighty sigh, Sans got up and went into the bathroom, shutting the door and clicking the locks into place.

Gaster glanced at the dressing room. He turned around, selected a few letters from the basket, and began unfolding and reading them, tugging on the chain to resume his human guise.

The air in the High Priestess' workroom was cool and still, smelling of sharp herbs and citrus; the only sound was Frisk humming to herself through the door. The royal sorcerer picked up the next letter, papers rustling gently.

He did not move, except to close his eyes and sigh, when the peace was shattered by a roar of _"Whathefuckisthi"_ that, to Sans' credit, lasted only a moment before he stopped himself.

"It's all right," the royal sorcerer assured Frisk as she flew out of the dressing room. "Please, High Priestess, calm yourself. I've prepared something for Sans to use tomorrow, and he has done exactly as I said not to do with it. He's a little alarmed, but otherwise fine."

Frisk nodded apprehensively, and obeyed his motion to go back to her dressing room, with many worried looks at the bathroom.

Sans emerged two minutes later, sockets wide and pinpricks showing. "What the—"

"Not only did I warn you, boy, I told you specifically how to avoid what just happened! You've alarmed Frisk and done my ears permanent damage, for which I do not thank you. If I were to give you further instructions for tomorrow, would you pay them any better attention? Or would you prefer to put her life in even greater danger than it already is?"

Needless to say, when Frisk came out, Sans was listening intently as Dr. Serif spoke in low, rapid, urgent tones. The priestess approached, cocking her head, and the doctor nodded to her. "That is what we will likely have to do," he said to Sans, loud enough for her to hear. "I will speak with the captain of the guard and His Holiness to ensure we will not surprise each other. What time will you be at the chapel tomorrow morning, my lady?"

"The service starts at eight o'clock, and I plan to be there half an hour early." Frisk sighed. "I'll probably be awake by five, so if you need anything, I'll be here until about five-thirty."

The doctor folded his hands. "Oh? Why so early?"

Frisk smiled self-consciously. "I agreed to have tea with Lord Owen before the celebration. He asked several months ago, and I haven't seen him since, so..."

"Owen," said Sans. He was scowling mightily, tapping his phalanges on the tabletop. "Wasn't that yer friend's name?"

"Yes, actually. Luke is Mathilda's older brother—I met him when their family visited St. Brigid's." Frisk couldn't keep from glancing at the hearthside basket, and noticed one of the open letters on the table. She gave Dr. Serif a pointed look, picked up the papers, and tossed them back into the basket. "Don't worry, Sans, you can sleep in. I'll be back here by seven o'clock," she said.

He quirked an eye socket at her. "Very funny, kiddo. You're not goin' anywhere tomorrow without me."

"Indeed, my lady," said the doctor. "It's purely a visit between old friends. You have plenty of time to make up your mind whether to arrange a more serious meeting in the future, and in the meantime, safety is more important than etiquette." He abruptly stood and gave them a short bow. "Forgive me for visiting so late. I'll leave you both to your sleep. Remember what we discussed, Sans, and get plenty of rest, my lady. Good night." And before either of them could say anything else, he was gone.

~

Frisk didn't get plenty of rest, as it turned out. She had finally dismantled her pillow fort that morning, but after their "slumber parties," as Sans termed it, she found the office colder and darker than usual. It was hard to relax without her gigantic apprentice between her and the door; somehow, she even missed him pestering her with "What'd th' mama cow tell her calf at night? 'It's _pasture_ bedtime'" or "If I can't sleep, I hafta eat somethin'. It's a condition called insom-nom-nom-nia" when she was trying to fall asleep. Maybe she shouldn't have insisted on coming back here instead of taking the bed and letting him stretch out in the workroom like he'd wanted. That way, even if they couldn't talk, he'd still be right outside the door.

Did Luke like puns? She couldn't remember. She would probably feel safe with him, though; the last time he'd visited, she had already been surprised at how tall and muscular he'd grown. If that wasn't enough for her peace of mind, they could afford all the guards she wanted, and everything else would be perfect. True, Sans was good company, but he wasn't exactly life-partner material...it wasn't as if he even had a—

Frisk banged her head against the arm of the couch. She had gone so long without thinking that thought right out loud! She'd been doing such a good job! Why now?

...But, if he could use magic to give himself a tongue, why not any other form of soft tissue? And another thing: without lips, did skeletons kiss by bonking their teeth together, or—

 _No! Stop it! Stop it right now!_ she screamed at herself. _Think about having to sing tomorrow! Being murdered! Literally anything else!_

.........How did skeletons combine their magic to reproduce, anyway? Sans had made it sound like an internal process requiring a male and a female, the same as humans, but without the usual mushy male or female parts, how—

 _NO! It's just magic! Go_ _to sleep, you pathetic, sick-minded degenerate!_

Thus, many layers of frustration stood between her and her rest, which came only a few hours before the cuckoo clock she'd barely remembered to set woke her at five a.m. Frisk bleared her way across the workroom, whacking her arm on a corner of the table in passing, and had to stand around squinting for an eternity before her eyes adjusted to the dressing room's soft light.

It was too early for her ceremonial dress, so the priestess changed into a modest dove-gray gown and picked out a pearl-drop pendant, a little pearl bracelet, and matching earrings. The first two went on easily enough, but after poking her earlobes in groggy frustration for a few minutes, she gave up, carried them out to the workroom, and knocked on the bedroom door. "Rise and shine," she croaked, and continued to the bathroom for some water, not bothering to close the door behind her.

To Frisk's surprise, Sans came out in less than a minute. The young woman glanced up from the vanity, head still bent and earring in hand. "Good morning. I'll be ready in a moment." She concentrated fiercely on her reflection, leaning in for another round of futile jabbing. Her hand was shaky with exhaustion, and she had a feeling that it just wasn't going to happen. But she already had one in! What was she going to—

Bones clicked as the skeleton sat on the floor beside her. "Geez. Gimme that," he said, sounding...exasperated, but something else, too. Frisk was too startled to think about it, or to protest as he took the earring from her with a speck of magic and used two fingers to tip her head up and sideways, gentle as always. He never touched her with any more force than necessary, she thought, at least after that first encounter in his prison cell; even when the assassin was after her and Sans was physically maneuvering her to safety, he had been careful not to hurt her. It was incredibly endearing.

Actually, given her principal source of frustration from thinking of skeleton parts and looking forward to conjugal relations, it was better – worse? – than that. Frisk twitched as the earring slid in and the tiny back-piece wriggled into place, and Sans looked concerned. "Don' tell me that hurt."

"No, it didn't, thank you," she said quickly, reaching up to check. It was perfect, secure but not too tight. If she could just stop blushing... "Um. Thank you." She jammed her hands into her hair and began untangling it as fast as she could. "One minute, I just have to get this sorted out."

Sans watched the proceedings, and her occasional facial contortions, as if she was an exotic animal performing some strange function unknown to science. "What's wrong? I thought hair didn't have any feelin' in it."

"It's attached to my scalp, and the human scalp _ow_ is extremely sensitive. The problem is that I haven't brushed it properly in a couple of days." The priestess grabbed a comb from the vanity drawer, opened a jar, dunked the comb in it, and began pulling through the bigger tangles. "This _nngh_ will help. I should've washed it last night, but I had too many letters to send out." Something in Sans' expression made her add, "I haven't even touched any of the proposals."

He stayed silent as she finished with the comb, patted her now-flatter hair, and dug through another drawer for makeup. A touch of eyeshadow, a dab of lip gloss, one more jar of goop for the bags under her eyes, and she was done. Frisk put everything away, washed her hands, and stood up, moving around the giant bones in her way. "Shoes," she muttered, mostly to remind herself.

Sans didn't get up till she re-emerged and said, "All right, I'm ready. Could you take us to the terrace, please? Lord Owen doesn't live far from there."

"Yeah, sure." He looked her over critically. "You forget yer veil thing."

Frisk hadn't expected any compliments, as such, and she wasn't _very_ dressed up, but was tired enough to still be annoyed. "I don't need it today. Don't ask why, because all I know is that we do things differently on holy days." She held out her hand. "Terrace, please."

He grunted. Frisk braced herself, and when the now-usual swooshing sensation came to an abrupt stop, she was pleased to find she was only a little dizzy. They were in the hallway outside the terrace that they'd visited after dinner; the priestess led him further down past the kitchens, heading into the nobles' wing of the palace. "I haven't been up here in a while," she said over her shoulder. "I may have to ask for directions when we get closer."

"Goody," mumbled Sans.

Frisk sighed. "Let's be very clear, Sans. I don't expect you to fawn all over Lord Owen. In fact, if you're too cranky to be civil, please don't talk to him any more than necessary. I didn't want to drag you here in the first place, and I don't want to spend the whole visit worrying about your behavior. All right?"

"...A'right."

She'd have to be satisfied with that. Luckily, at least one problem was solved for her: as they ascended another staircase and came to a branching hallway, Frisk stopped for a moment to try to remember which way to go, only to be approached by a maid who curtsied and asked, "Your Eminence? My lord bids you good morning. Please come this way."

They followed her to a suite of rooms as big as a couple of houses put together, decorated in white and gold and general wealth, until they reached the parlor. The maid shut the door behind them as a handsome young man rose from a couch and held his hands out to Frisk. "My lady?" Lord Owen smiled at Frisk, who found it easy to smile back. "How wonderful to see you again!" He pressed his lips to her fingers, then clasped her hand. "I hope you have been well, Frisk. You're even lovelier than I remembered! I didn't think it possible."

Frisk laughed. "Thank you, Luke. It's been far too long." She turned to see Sans watching them intently, and reclaimed her hand to indicate the skeleton. "Forgive my rudeness, my lord, but I've brought a guest. This is my apprentice, Sans. Sans, _please_ meet Lord Owen."

Sans bobbed his head. "Lord Owen."

When Sans made no move to hold out his hand, the lord bowed to him. "The pleasure is mine, sir. It's an honor to make your acquaintance. Please, have a seat." He hurried to push the couch closer to a little table laden with pastries and tea things, fetching a smaller chair for himself.

The priestess allowed the lord to bow her into another chair by the table, and reflected that her memory had been accurate; Luke was over six feet tall, with fair hair and blue eyes that reminded her of Mathilda. He waited till they were both settled, then pulled up his chair and began pouring tea, bringing an extra cup out from somewhere. "How do you take yours, sir?" he asked Sans.

"I don't know," the skeleton said. "Never had any."

As Frisk had hoped, the young lord was too well-bred to laugh or say anything stupid. "Well, then, may I interest you in trying some? This is a very mild variety of milk tea. It goes well with soul cakes—they're delicious, but quite dry on their own."

"They're named for the day, not a monster or human SOUL. It's mostly cinnamon," Frisk said, knowing he'd take the hint to get out his tongue, and trying in vain to avoid more tongue-related thoughts.

Sans lifted one shoulder. "Sure, I like cinnamon okay." He glanced at Frisk, who gave him a quick smile of approval and willed herself not to look in his mouth.

With the tea and cakes distributed, the lord sat back, steepling his fingers. "If anything, Frisk, I am glad you've brought your emissary with you. You've heard that a sizable tract of farmland near Mt. Ebott will be available in the near future?"

Sans looked up from examining his teacup. Frisk hadn't expected this, and set her own cup down. "I have. Why do you ask, Luke?"

"Because I am the executor of my late uncle's estate, and the land in question was his. It's my responsibility to oversee the proper disposition of one thousand hectares, and they're located less than a mile from the no-man's-land between our kingdom and the Underground. The fields haven't been tilled for several years, as my uncle neglected it before his death, so it will require some care. However, under proper management, it will be extremely productive in very little time."

"There ain't many big farms near us. Is it the place by the river with all the maple trees?" Sans asked.

"I believe so," the lord replied. "I went there a few times as a boy, and there were several maples on the river. I doubt there are two farms near the Underground matching that description."

"One thousand hectares," Frisk mused. "That's a little under two thousand and five hundred acres?"

"Two thousand, four hundred seventy, yes."

Frisk shut her eyes. "I've been looking into the matter, and I know for a fact that good cropland goes for an average of four thousand dinar per acre. Rounding up, that means that the asking price of that tract is...roughly ten million?"

Sans nearly spilled his cup, rescuing its contents with his magic a split-second away from the carpet. Lord Owen watched in fascination as the tea arched into the air and splashed neatly back into the cup. "Yes, my lady, that's correct," he said. "We'll probably sell it at that exact price. The soil is excellent, but most people find the location too remote."

The skeleton grimaced. "It'd be great if we could get ahold of it, even with the stuff I'm learnin' about how to improve the land we already got. But there's no way we could afford that, assumin' you'd even sell it t'us."

"No, it's a bad idea for monsters to try to purchase anything from humans at this point, especially for that much money," said Frisk. "We need to make much more social and legal progress before we can be sure that your rights would be respected." She tried a sip of tea. "That's why _I_ will buy it."

"I suspected as much," the lord said as Sans' sockets widened. "I cannot promise anything, of course, but I will send you the name of the broker we've been using, and details on how to contact her discreetly."

"Thank you very much, Luke." Frisk smiled at him.

"Of course, my lady. ...Are you all right, Sans?"

"He's fine. We'll discuss it later," the priestess said meaningfully.

"Splendid. Now, to better things." Lord Owen picked up a small bell on the side table and rang it. When the maid appeared, the lord instructed her, "Fetch Ruby for us."

"Ruby?" Frisk couldn't help sitting up to peer into the next room as the maid rushed off. "Is she the one you brought along on Easter vacation?"

"She is indeed." The lord grinned. "Hold out your hand, please, Frisk."

Frisk smiled, and raised her hand, turning it sideways.

"If I may—" Lord Owen took her wrist and angled her hand upward. "Well done, my lady. It'll just be a moment longer. And if I also may—" He felt her bracelet for the latch and undid it, placing it on the table. "I don't want this to be destroyed. You know how she is," he added, and Frisk nodded ruefully.

Sans was looking extremely grumpy by the time the maid came back. The lord started to speak, and there was a loud rustle and ducking of heads as something large flapped across the room. "Hello, Ruby," the priestess said gaily to the parrot clinging to her wrist. "Do you remember me?"

It was a beautiful bird with a red crown and glossy green body. The parrot squawked amiably at the priestess, then bent down for a head scratch, closing its eyes as she obliged.

"She remembers everything," Lord Owen declared. "Do you still know 'Rose of May'? If you sing the chorus, she'll follow along. It's her favorite."

"Of course!" Frisk stopped scratching, licked her lips – unaware of keen attention from both man and monster – and began whistling a melody that made the bird's head snap up. Instantly, the parrot started singing along in a strange, creaky bird-voice that made Frisk laugh, and thus stop whistling, at which the bird bobbed its head irritably. "I'm sorry! Here," and the priestess mastered herself enough to restart the song.

Lord Owen watched her, and Sans watched him a little, but mostly watched Frisk, who whistled at the parrot until she was out of breath. "The Owens breed red-crowns as a hobby," she said to Sans, placating Ruby with more head skritches. "It helps to keep people from going out to catch wild ones to sell as pets. Mathilda could talk about them for days on end."

"Yeah, seems kinda cruel to keep 'em caged up," commented Sans.

"Indeed it is," the lord said warmly. "We've converted three bedrooms into an arbor, and we keep two full-time servants solely to look after it. The birds are very attached to them." He chuckled. "We're more like aunts and uncles. Our visits are tolerated, but only if we bring treats."

"Oh." The skeleton poked at a soul cake, which looked even tinier in his massive grip. "Doesn't leave your family a lotta room, does it? This place is pretty big, but..."

Frisk burst out laughing as the parrot swung under her hand and dangled by one foot, calling "Oh nooo" in a tragic voice. Thus encouraged, the bird flapped its way upright, looked Frisk in the eye, and immediately swung down again: "Oh noooo!"

"That's very kind of you, sir," Lord Owen said, sounding a little amused, "but we only stay here when we have business in the palace, or for holy days. My parents are at our winter villa with three of my siblings—I'm the oldest of five, and my baby sister just turned six. They all say hello, Frisk, but my father recently allowed some sick travelers to stay the night, and now the whole family's caught it. There's no real danger, but I can't come home yet."

"I'll bet your mother was thrilled," Frisk remarked. "If anyone was ever generous to a fault..."

"Yes, that's Father," the lord admitted.

Sans tossed back his cup of tea and threw a cake in to join it. Frisk noticed him about to speak with his mouth full and asked loudly, "May I use your powder room? Ruby would probably like to go back as well."

The bell was rung again, the parrot was lured back to the maid with a walnut, and Frisk found herself escorted to an opulent little bathroom. Seized with morbid curiosity as to how the two males would fare when left alone, she took her time, though there wasn't much to fuss about with her appearance; she was just happy to be free of the veil for one day.

When Frisk returned to the sitting room, she half expected to see things broken and/or on fire. Perhaps more surprising was the sight of Sans in deep conversation with the lord, the former leaning down far enough on his elbow to talk to the latter on a nearly equal level. "D'you mind?" the skeleton asked Lord Owen, nodding at Frisk.

"Yes, you'd better," the young man said, and sighed. He rose to take Frisk's hand again. "Your guard has informed me that it's time for you to prepare for the All Souls celebration. Please take this with you." On cue, the maid materialized from behind the chair with a huge basket of cakes. "Thank you for coming this morning, dear lady. May I see you again soon?"

"As my schedule allows," she said politely, accepting the basket. "Thank you very much for having us."

"Yep. Nice to meet ya, bye." Sans took Frisk's free hand, and as she started to warn him not to go anywhere yet, the world swooshed by and she was standing outside her rooms.

"Do we have to make a new rule about this?" she asked tartly. "If my life is not in imminent danger, no teleporting until I say so!"

"Yeah, about that." Sans waved the guard aside and banged the doors open and shut. "D'you know a guy named Fernand?" He took the basket from her, set it on the table, and popped a few more cakes in his mouth.

Frisk had to stop for a moment and redirect her train of thought. "Yes, I do. He's an archdeacon, and my oldest half-brother. Why on earth are you asking?"

Sans slapped his leg in triumph, sending crumbs flying. "Ha! He didn't know that. Here, it's after seven already. Go get yer stuff on, but keep the door open so I can tell ya what's goin' on."

This was not the most polite suggestion she'd ever heard, but time was indeed wearing on, and curiosity was already outweighing her sense of dread, so she listened through the cracked door as she undressed.

It seemed that, the moment she left the room, Lord Owen had asked Sans if Her Eminence was all right after the recent attempt on her life. Knowing extremely well that no one should know it had even happened, Sans had played dumb and asked where he'd heard about it.

The lord had had a good explanation: he'd visited his friend Fernand a few days ago and found him completely distraught that someone had attacked the High Priestess in the night; Fernand was apparently concerned that it was a plot against Church officials and he could also be targeted. Lord Owen found it very strange that no one else was talking about any assassination attempts, and when nothing seemed to come of it, he chalked it up to his friend's general strangeness and tendency to get drunk at odd hours; he was ready to dismiss the matter entirely before he thought to check with Sans, who he correctly assumed to be Frisk's bodyguard.

"So he said he was gonna run and let the captain of the guard know, real discreet-like, an' wished you good luck," the boss monster finished. He paused, and in a different tone, added, "I don't like it, Frisk. If he's lyin' about _any_ of this, I'll rip his eyes out and feed 'em to 'is damn birds."

"Sans," she said patiently, "I'm sure he knows that. Putting aside any personal feelings or influences, there is literally no good reason for Luke to hurt me. His sister cannot become eligible to be High Priestess until spring at the soonest, and everyone already knows I'm getting ready to retire—see the extra letters piling up? Until I announce either my new position or a betrothal, I'll be more useful alive than dead."

Silence, then an extra-loud grunt. "Why doncha just burn 'em? Ya don't have time to read all that crap. We've got way too much stuff t'get through. I think I'm onto somethin' with mixing that alfalfa meal up for better fertilizer, 'n if I can finish analyzing the composition of different kinds'a glycerin 'n distill it a little more efficiently, we could really—"

"Sans."

"...Well, 'm not gonna sort 'em for ya."

Frisk finished tugging on her gown, tried to pluck it looser in the bust, and, with some effort, heaved a sigh. "Fine. Get back, please."

Sans moved away from the door and she stepped out, scratching her collarbone. She had always hated this outfit, which had flagrantly been designed by a man: it covered most of her skin, but not only was it somehow tighter than her everyday High Priestess garb, it was dark violet in color, with a black sash around the waist and a black neckband, almost a choker. Dr. Serif had given her a new brooch to pin to the neckband, this one opalescent and rimmed in silver—a much-needed touch of class, in her opinion. At least her usual black dress muted her curves somewhat; this one looked more like body paint, though it certainly didn't feel like it!

Sans had picked up a small leather bag and was looking at the clock. "Ya wanted to be there at seven-thirty, right? If we leave now, we should—" He glanced at her, did a double take, and made a sound like "Gggk."

The priestess flushed. "I know, all right? I don't have a choice." She went to the worktable and picked up her circlet, then shuffled to the bathroom and, rather than bend herself enough to sit at the vanity, leaned over the mirror to check her makeup. A little eyeliner, a tiny bit more color on her lips, and another comb-through to straighten her hair, and that should do it, she thought wearily, putting the circlet on. It felt so strange without the veil that she could hardly enjoy leaving it off.

Frisk turned back to Sans, who was looking very directly at her, eyes blank. She wanted to punch him again. "Would you stop that? I know it's ridiculous! It's bad enough that I have to wear this the whole day, but then they expect me to sing when I can barely even breathe!" She strained against the dress to sigh again, and Sans' eye twitched. "Now, please, let's go."

The skeleton started violently. "Wait a sec. _That's_ what yer goin' t'church in? You're gonna leave the room like that? On purpose?! Why'd ya even put clothes on if it looks like—"

"Saaaans," she snarled, and he clamped his mouth shut. Frisk grabbed his hand and ordered, "Chapel, _now_ ," and he meekly obeyed.

~

Sans had lived through a lot of crap, including a bone-shredding magical catastrophe, multiple fights for his life and those of others, and enough emotional turmoil to kill most people, human or monster. But somehow, he couldn't think of anything worse than having tea-time with that smug, perfect piece of shit with his smug, perfect hair and perfect courtesy and perfect lots of money and modesty and kindness and nice family she liked who also liked her and cutesy pets that made Frisk laugh and he _kept touching her for no damn reason_.

Worse, that perfect shithead had to go and make himself useful, too, offering that land by the river—and what the hell was Frisk doing, thinking of buying it for the monsters? Was she on a quest to make every other human in existence look bad, or was she just being her?

Anyway, the guy not only was giving them a leg up on that, he had what Sans grudgingly knew was a genuine lead on whoever had tried to have her killed. With a named suspect and evidence of a plot against her, the palace guard would have the right to search everyone entering the chapel, and they'd have a ring of guardsmen between the altar and the congregation. That would free Sans to enact Gaster's plan without having to keep too close an eye on her, which was probably for the best, given how amazing she looked in that stupid painted-on dress. Seriously, why was she even bothering to wear clothes?

Oh, fuck. Speaking of which, he'd been so distracted that he'd forgotten to tell her what they were planning. Welp, hopefully, it wouldn't come up.

He'd brought her to a small hallway off the main one leading into the chapel, sent her straight to the guardsmen standing ready to meet her, and ducked back into the hall to put on his new silver chain. After ten minutes, he casually fell in behind a party of churchgoers headed to the service, submitted to a search, and allowed someone to direct him to a seat near the middle-front of the chapel.

The place was filling up fast. The boss monster took a hymnal and leafed through it to avoid having to talk to anyone, feeling exceptionally strange as he listened to the people around him chatter. It seemed most of them were planning to visit family graves or altars for the dead, and there would be a festival set up in the castle town's square. At least one small child was already whining about having to sit through church before he got to eat, met with the usual threats of not getting any more food for the rest of his life if he didn't behave.

The only item of real interest was when people noted the increased security, and how the last High Priestess had been shot with a crossbow at this very service. General opinion seemed to hold that the current High Priestess was much kinder and more sensible than her predecessor; it was a pity she'd be leaving soon, though they wished her well in her future marriage. One woman admired how Her Eminence had tamed that horrible skeleton monster, but wondered about the propriety of a pretty young woman keeping a male of any kind in her living quarters, and her husband murmured that it didn't count if the monster wasn't capable of male-specific activities. His wife shushed him, but in a laughing way, and Sans looked around in vain for something he'd be allowed to kill.

There was nothing of the sort until the service started. Murmurs of admiration – and more – arose as Frisk appeared and began reading the opening prayer; the husband behind him was so enthusiastic that his wife thumped him on the arm to shut him up, and Sans caught a few other remarks that did not improve his mood whatsoever.

It was hard not to return to his previous line of thinking that he should get her to the Underground, keep her with him and Papyrus as a new pet human, and call it a "diplomatic mission" or some similar crap. She might object at first, but after all this responsibility and the loneliness of being High Priestess, maybe she'd come to see it as a sort of vacation. How could she object to snowball fights and pillow wars and all the puns she wanted? No more worrying about plots against her, no more having to be ogled by every amorous dipshit in the kingdom, no marrying anyone...

The organist was playing the introduction to the first hymn, and Frisk was stepping up to begin singing. To Sans' absolute rage, that was when the back of his neck suddenly started itching. Gaster had warned him that his new device would react to a certain threshold of magic being used nearby, and this was a lot of magic, very close by.

The boss monster turned and zeroed in on a skinny woman sitting a couple of rows back, holding onto her diamond bracelet and frowning intently at the altar. Sans didn't stop to think: he took a very short shortcut, said "'Scuse me" to the startled people whose legs he was suddenly squishing, grabbed the woman's wrist, and teleported them both away.

Before the woman could react, they were in the King's favorite meeting room, where several armed guards were waiting. "Caught her 'bout to use this," the boss monster said tersely, holding up the bracelet.

Dr. Serif raised his head from his book as the guards took charge of the woman. Sans concentrated on the bracelet for a second and ground his teeth. "You bitch! Where'd you get Snowdrake's magic?" He nearly threw it at the royal sorcerer. "That poor bastard went missing over three months ago!"

"Find the owner of a monster called Snowdrake and bring them here immediately," the doctor instructed a guard. He turned the bracelet over in his long, thin hands. "This was designed to freeze a person from the inside. Ingenious, in a completely amoral and reprehensible way. Well done, sir. Please return to your work."

Sans didn't let himself think. He appeared at the back of the chapel, and to his horror, two more people were already preparing to use magic. He short-cut over to a man sitting near the choir, deposited him in the meeting room, and zipped back to another guy standing by the chapel entrance. He didn't stop to catch his breath, but dropped _him_ off and came right back to check for more.

Nothing. He sank to his haunches against the chapel's backmost corner, head between his knees as a dull pounding filled his ears. He was distantly aware of people applauding around him—he'd missed Frisk's song, damn them to friggin' hell. At least it had distracted people in the midst of random churchgoers vanishing. He had to stay that way for several minutes, but was able to stand up by the start of the next song...performed by some other woman. Dammit.

But as he tolerated the hymn, he felt something else. It started as a tingle on the back of his neck, and he scratched it, cringing at the utter weirdness of the sensation; it got worse, not better, building rapidly to a crescendo of power so strong that he couldn't tell where in the chapel it was coming from. It didn't feel like it was targeting the altar; the attack was being aimed behind it, where the clergy had a series of storage and waiting rooms.

Frisk wasn't on the altar. That meant she was—

Sans had never moved so fast. He thought of her and cut straight to the back room where she was standing. As her eyes widened and her mouth opened, he took her hand: quick as thought, they were now outside her rooms. "Run!" Sans barked at the guard.

The guard promptly dropped his weapon and sprinted down the hall to the stairs. With him out of the way, Sans turned to ask Frisk if she was all right, only to have her twist out of his grip and smack him hard enough to crash him into the wall. "Who the hell are you?" the priestess demanded. She backed away, looking around wildly. "Sans! _Sans_!"

"Frisk! It's me, you fu—friggin' psycho!" The skeleton yanked the silver chain off and blinked hard, trying to adjust to the sudden height difference. "See? Ta-da! ...Damn, my head!"

"Sans?" Frisk came forward a few steps. "Sans...what...?"

"Sorry, forgot t'tell ya," he mumbled, staying against the wall. "Hol' on a sec, I had ta get around a bunch'a times in a row. 'm worn out."

"Forgot to tell me _what,_ exactly? What just happened? Who was that?"

"That was me, dum-dum. Look." The boss monster slipped the necklace back on, and Frisk yelped as a tall, slim, nearly white-haired human reappeared. The man blinked his dark eyes a few times, then squeezed them shut. "This is so damn weird, you have no friggin' idea," he said in Sans' voice. "Everythin's closer, it feels like the air is attackin' me—and how the hell d'you handle bein' able ta smell things? He said he reduced how much I'd process outside stimuli compared t'the average human, but this is nuts! That actually hurt!" He made a show of rubbing his cheek, then flinched. "Augh, that makes it worse! Can I take this crap off now?!"

"Is..." The priestess still had to look up at him, though it was now only a foot or so. "Did Dr. Serif make this?" Her face cleared. "Ohh, that was what he gave you last night, so you could disguise yourself for the service." She pursed her lips at him. "Yes, you absolutely should have told me about this before you scared me to—"

 _Boom_ went something outside, not very far off.

They stood, stunned, for the count of three. Frisk went to one of the windows lining the hall and peered out. "Fireworks? It's too early," she said, watching the colored lights fade in midair. "And why is there so much magic in it?"

"They're not real, that's why." Sans looked at his fleshy hands, touching his fingertips together one by one as he thought out loud. "That's the power someone was buildin' up t'use on you. Guess whoever it was couldn't find ya in time and didn't want to cause a big scene for nothin'. They had to get rid of all that magic, so they got outside and made it look like someone set off fireworks." He stuck his hands in the pockets of his black overcoat. "Pretty smart, whoever they are," he admitted. "That was fast thinkin'."

Frisk was standing a little too still, headdress clinking on the glass as she rested her forehead against it. "If they didn't want to kill anyone else, then all that magic would've been focused on me," she told her reflection. He saw her fists clench; the headdress rattled faintly on the window. "I probably wouldn't even have felt anything. It'd look like I just disappeared."

Sans could have killed himself. He'd done it again, talking about how she could have died as though it was no big deal. "Frisk, I—'m sorry, I didn't mean—"

She turned around with an expression he didn't recognize. "Hold still for a moment," she whispered, and before he could react, the young woman came to him and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

Nothing had prepared him for this. The human-shaped monster froze in place with his arms half raised, feeling her full length pressed against him, her heart pounding and his SOUL fluttering up to meet it. Just existing had already been a sensory overload, and his first cogent thought was that his first real hug was going to be his last.

The second was that she was the softest thing he'd ever touched. The third was how warm she felt, the fourth that she smelled like...of course he didn't know what that scent was, but it was her, so it was the best thing he'd ever smelled.

Frisk was trembling. All he could see was the top of her head, the circlet nearly poking him in the eye. Sans tried to move it aside and had to catch it with a bit of magic as it started to slip off, wafting it over to rest on the windowsill.

She shook her head and burrowed in harder, almost knocking him off balance. Sans reflexively steadied her with one arm, only to encounter the silky material of whatever the dress was, and her body heat coming through it. An answering wave of heat swept through him; he tried to remove his hand, to tell her that that was enough, but it was like his SOUL was stuck in place, refusing to let him move away.

He was dealing with exactly as many feelings as he could handle when she sighed and made a small sound, and yet another damn thing started happening. He didn't understand it any more than the other things this human body was doing, but while it was the most physically pleasant sensation he'd ever experienced, it felt _way_ too personal, probably because of the area in which it was centered. Sans hoped devoutly that it'd go away on its own, and had a strong suspicion that it wouldn't: most of his nerve endings seemed to be clustered down there, and they weren't going to stop doing their job as long as Frisk was plastered against him.

...Okay, now it was getting painful, and he did recognize his rising – ha – urge to grab her as hard as he could. Even in this smaller, fleshier body, she was so tiny that he could very well squish her to death.

The need to spare her from any lasting damage was what gave Sans the willpower to finally get his hands on her also-very-soft shoulders and push just hard enough to move her away. "Sorry, too much," he mumbled, face averted. He shuffled back and reached up to slip off the chain, becoming his normal size and insensitivity. "We probably better getcha back to church 'fore anyone thinks ya got blown up for real. It should be safe now that they used their biggest whatever-it-was," he added.

"Yes, you're right." Frisk picked up her circlet and settled it in place, looking almost as flustered as he felt. "I'm...I'm so sorry about that, I just needed a moment to—"

"S'okay," he said hurriedly. "I didn't really—ya just surprised me, an' I'm not used to bein' able t'feel everythin' all the time. It was just a lot to take in." Sans rubbed at his sternum. His parts might be gone, but his SOUL was still acting up. "Don' worry about it."

Frisk somehow got even redder. "If you say so." She scratched her shoulder, making a scratchy sound on the thin material. "Let's go to the same place we started from last time, please, not behind the altar. We'll say that I felt sick and then we were outside watching the fireworks."

"Sounds like a plan." Sans held out his giant-again hand. "Off we go, boss."

She smiled. "Off we go."


	7. All Souls Day, Part 2

When they strolled up to the chapel entrance, the captain on duty was the very one who had been in charge of Sans' cell the day they met. He was discussing the fireworks with one of his subordinates, who looked over the captain's shoulder and got very, very quiet. The skeleton took a great deal of pleasure in waiting for him to turn around, then saying, "Well, hey there. Don't I know ya from somewhere?"

The captain was ready to have a conniption until he spotted Frisk: Sans was leaning far sideways, and she was standing almost on tiptoe, holding the crook of his elbow so that he was escorting her like a proper gentleman. "Your Eminence!" the captain gasped. He looked back and forth between them, hand on his sword hilt. "My lady, where have you been? Has this creature done something to you?"

"He saved me from being ill in front of half the kingdom," Frisk said coolly. "I am fine now, Captain, thanks to his timely intervention. Has the benediction been performed yet?"

"Uh...no, my lady, but—"

"Then I will do so." With her head held high, the High Priestess led the skeleton past the guards and straight into the chapel.

Unsurprisingly, their entrance caused quite a stir. The last verse of the last hymn was starting, and as the pair approached the altar, Frisk signaled for the choir to keep going. The congregation watched, stunned, as Frisk took Sans with her through the ring of guardsmen and stood to one side at the front of the chapel, waiting for the music to end.

She hadn't planned on this, but she wouldn't have done it any differently; it was impossible not to smirk a little. The boss monster must have felt the same way, because he bent down to say, under the cover of song, "Didn't think I'd get t'walk ya down the aisle today."

"You do know that a girl's father does that for her, not the groom?" she murmured back, and Sans looked so chagrined that she _snrrk_ ed again.

The hymn came to a close, and Frisk moved up to read the benediction. She tried to put her facade back on, but she couldn't help smiling; when she formally ended the service, there was more applause than she'd ever heard.

Though the guards prevented anyone from coming up to the altar, she reclaimed Sans and, ignoring all attempts to stop her, went to stand in the back of the chapel to speak with people as they left. Sure enough, despite the presence of her massive escort, there was such a traffic jam around her that Frisk ended up having to move outside the entrance.

Of course, amidst the compliments and well-wishes came several questions about her absence from the middle of the ceremony; enough people knew about Sans' abilities to ask if they'd really seen a woman and/or men vanish from the congregation, and why the people sitting near them had been taken away quietly by armed guards.

Frisk made a quick guess as to what had happened, and that the woman and/or men's families were the ones talking loudly to the guards in the next room. She told the questioner that extraordinary measures had been necessary for everyone's safety, and certain persons had had to be taken into immediate custody—no one had been spirited away to never be seen again, and no one would be, which her listeners seemed willing to believe.

It was also a matter of great speculation why someone would trouble themselves to put on a fireworks display in full daylight, and a time when everyone was in church and wouldn't see them. Luckily, the consensus was that it had been a mistake, and Frisk could feign ignorance along with her parishioners.

More cute, but problematic, was the custom of children offering her little tokens like flowers and ribbons on their way out. There were no pockets in her wretched dress, so her hands filled up quickly, and she could only tuck so many golden flowers behind her ears. On impulse, Frisk started winding the ribbons around Sans' arms instead and tying the flowers on; seeing that Sans was not killing or eating her, the children soon began ignoring the priestess and going straight to the skeleton, decorating his legs and poking flower stems through his wristbones.

Throughout this ordeal, Sans had no idea what to do, so he opted to stand there, expressionless, and do nothing. This happened to be the least threatening and therefore correct option; Frisk checked frequently on the crowd's reactions, but after the first few minutes, no one was frightened at all. Parents were even bowing to Sans and mouthing "Thank you" up at him as they reclaimed their delighted offspring.

The priestess had been sure to speak loud enough for the nearby guardsmen and any curious bystanders to hear, and when it was time to step away from the crowd and confer with His Holiness privately, she didn't have to repeat herself much. That was when she learned that magically infused items had been brought into the chapel in lieu of daggers or crossbows, and how Sans – still bedecked in flowers as he gravely related these particulars – had used his teleportation to thwart their efforts; the three suspects' friends and families had already been escorted upstairs for further questioning.

This last fact turned out to be a slight problem. Frisk had thought the "fireworks" would be easy to trace to anyone who had left the chapel in a hurry a few minutes after her hymn, but it seemed several people had been escorted out for questioning at the same time. Many of them had been loud or troublesome enough for someone to have followed the group out and slipped away without notice.

"Pity. Overall, a job well done, sir," the Cardinal told Sans, and gave the guard captain a look that forced the poor man to say through gritted teeth, "Indeed, sir. Thank you for your service."

"Thank you, Your Holiness. We'll take our leave, then," Frisk said smoothly, giving Sans the slightest tap with her foot. "A happy All Souls Day to each of you."

Sans mumbled something similar, and with a couple of bows, they were free to go. The priestess was starving, but the second they got back to the workroom, she shuffled at top speed to her dressing room, slammed the door, and peeled the gown off as fast as she could. Her sigh of freedom was so exaggerated and yet genuine that she heard Sans mutter, "Guess it was good fer you, too," which made her laugh till she had to sit down amidst her shoes and catch her breath.

It was strange; by unspoken agreement, neither mentioned their embrace in the hallway, but as she came out in her loosest, oldest dress and they sat down to breakfast, the silence was completely comfortable. They each ate a small pile of soul cakes, some eggs, and then more soul cakes, not stopping until they ran out of milk and Sans finally allowed her to take the basket away.

They sat around for a few minutes afterward, half asleep, with the boss monster lost in thought as he picked flowers off his arms; she knew it was serious when he began shifting around and tapping his heels on the floor. "Hey, Frisk?" He twisted a couple of flower stems together. "How do ya go about gettin' a list of what human's got what monster? It's a Church thing, right?"

Frisk had been sitting cross-legged on the floor to unwind the ribbons around his legs, and stood up slowly to place a handful on the table. She'd known this conversation would have to happen sooner or later, but why did it have to spoil such a nice, quiet moment? "Is there a specific reason you want to know?" she asked cautiously.

"Yeah. One of the people after you was gonna use an ice spell she got from a monster named Snowdrake. The magic felt pretty fresh, not like they drained 'im already and jus' used it now. I figured he must still be alive."

The priestess sat down beside him and picked up another golden flower. "I'm going to be honest with you, Sans, and in return, I ask that you not get too angry with me." He nodded without looking at her, and she continued, "I already asked the Cardinal for those exact records, back when we met him and the King. I am deeply sorry for my phrasing, but I said 'a specific class of goods' because I wanted to be circumspect in front of you. I didn't know what you would say if I asked for a list of all the monsters registered as slaves. It is indeed 'a Church thing,' I am disgusted to say. Again, I apologize for—"

"Nah, you were right, I'd'a gone nuts. Ya don't hafta be so stiff about it. I know ya don't actually think of us as stuff ta buy and sell."

The words were mature enough, but Frisk didn't like the look on his face. "I suppose it's time we had a real talk about this," she said. "I've been thinking it over for years, and I have an idea of what we can do to put an end to the monsters' slavery. Will you hear me out?" He wouldn't answer, and Frisk tugged at his sleeve. "Please, Sans."

The giant skeleton flicked at the pile of flowers, sending them flying across the tabletop and onto the floor. "Fine," he growled. "Talk."

"All right. First, I don't know if you know the exact legalities, so: it is technically against the law to go to the border with the Underground, find a monster, and bring said monster back here to be sold, but it's rarely enforced, and it is legal to sell, buy, or own them. It's definitely a crime to buy or own a monster without registering him or her and paying the proper taxes, and the Church enforces it very strictly. ...Sans, I'm not saying any of this to upset you. I have to be sure you know exactly what we're fighting, and that if you charge out and start liberating monsters, you're going to make everything a thousand times worse. May I explain why?"

His teeth were gnashing so hard that it sounded like metal on metal, not bone. "I am tryin' _very_ hard ta be good right now, kid. Ya better get to the friggin' point soon."

"Very well. The point is that if you decide to free any or all of the monsters and you kill a human in the process, not only will you go from an emissary to a wanted criminal, you'll reinforce everyone's fears about monsters being dangerous, even the people who left church today thinking that skeletons may not be evil after all. That much fear could very well push the King to declare war."

No reaction. Frisk stopped to pour herself some water, but she was thinking so hard that she just stared at it while she said, "I wouldn't be able to stop them from sealing the Underground and forcing every single monster in it to choose between slavery and starvation. And if you think you could use your magic to free monsters without killing anyone, don't. They'd figure out it was you, and you'd be banished at the very least. Meanwhile, I'd be stripped of my title, forced to pay double the full value of each monster, and imprisoned."

That made him sit back a little, but Frisk was not done by a long shot. "Now, if I thought that money would make the problem go away, I would've done it a long time ago—but no. If I were to buy every monster in the kingdom, it wouldn't stop anyone from going out to get new ones. In fact, it would drive prices so high that humans would be racing to set up camp in the no-man's-land and raid the Underground itself for more slaves. They wouldn't care what the law says. They'd be making more than enough to just pay the fines, or be so numerous that the King couldn't arrest them all. If you tried to fight them off, they'd kill any monsters who attacked them, claim self-defense, and get away with it. No one would stop them because we've gotten so dependent on magic, and right now, humans still think monsters are—"

"Shit on a brick! Fine! I get it. You're right. Yer totally goddamn right." Sans' head sank between his elbows, cheek grating on the table. "So, we play nice 'n let everyone see how cuddly I am, an' a few hundred years from now, humans might like monsters enough ta feed us every single day?"

"I'm getting to that, Sans. By law, monsters must be provided adequate food, water, and shelter, and any accommodations their unique biology may require. They're also not supposed to be used to commit crimes. If someone used Snowdrake's magic to fashion illegal weapons, I can have him confiscated and placed in my custody, and I'll register his new location as a house I own on the outskirts of the city. How long would it take you to make one round trip from here to the house and the Underground, and back? Could you do it, say, overnight?"

"Hmm. Yeah, it'd just take a lot outta me." Frisk couldn't help noting that he now considered it a given he'd be coming right back, and allowed herself to be very happy for a moment before he went on, "With Snowdrake, G—the doctor already told 'em to find whoever took his magic for that spell. So that's already happenin', which just leaves...how many monsters _are_ there here?"

"I don't know the exact total offhand. I promise to show you the records as soon as the Cardinal gives them to me, if _you_ promise you won't use them to do anything rash, which I define as 'anything you know Frisk does not want you to do.' For the immediate future, the best plan of action would be to check the conditions each one is being kept in and see if we can legally take any more of them. We'd need to do it before word gets out and everyone suddenly starts behaving perfectly—that's what usually happens when I try to order surprise inspections."

"Great, but when can we get started on makin' this shit illegal t'begin with?"

"When we have enough political support. We need people to feel that it's wrong to keep monsters like animals, even if they're well-treated, and we also have to be prepared when they ask, 'But where will we get our magic?' Part of the answer will be the natural power sources you and the doctor are working on now, which he should be able to formally present to the King before you leave. But also..." She trailed off, her throat closing up with sudden nervousness.

Sans lifted a hand. "What? Spit it out."

Frisk's heart was pounding. She knew Sans wouldn't like this part, but if she couldn't convince him, the entire plan was sunk. How to begin?

Something occurred to her, and without thinking hard enough, she said, "I'm sorry for the comparison, but it reminds me of Luke and his birds." He stiffened, and she hastened to add, "Don't get me wrong—monsters are _not_ pets, and I'm not suggesting you stay confined in any way, but it's a valid example of working within the constraints of supply and demand. If we can't eliminate the demand for magic, we need to supply it without exploiting monsters, and we have to make it as painless a transition as we can. In this case, not only do we work on wind and solar generation, we..." A deep breath, almost a gulp. "...have monsters give magic voluntarily. You could sell it to us, or perhaps trade it as part of a peace agreement, or for food, until we learn to make enough for ourselves. Partners, not slaves."

Sans didn't move. "...Partners?"

One word, nothing more. Frisk's heart sped up until she felt sick. The boss monster was sitting stock-still, but the air around him started to turn faintly red, smelling like heat lightning. Frisk made herself say, "You hate humans. I know that. I won't claim to know exactly what you're feeling, but I—"

"Ya couldn'a picked a worse monster fer this. Ya know that?" The skeleton turned his head, and Frisk flinched: his right socket was blank, and the left was solid crimson, the same color as his blaster the day he'd been prepared to kill her and all the guards in his prison cell. "Lemme tell ya somethin', kid. I'll admit that you've been treatin' me right, and I don't mind bein' cutesy 'n nice once in a while if it'll make other monsters safer." His fist slammed into the solid oak tabletop, leaving a dent. "But I'll be fucked in the eye 'fore I go back ta Asgore and say, 'Hey, maybe they'll quit squeezin' us out like jelly rolls and leavin' us to scream ourselves inta dust, we just hafta promise we'll be good helpers!' Are ya _kidding_ me, Frisk? This whole time, you've been plannin' to end slavery by gettin' us ta whore ourselves out instead?!"

The priestess' ears were ringing. She hadn't seen or felt him this angry since the day they met. Should she back off, try to placate him, and wait to bring it up again later—maybe shelve it entirely till she could talk with another monster?

No. She knew Sans. If she left things like this – especially if she apologized for proposing it – she'd be all but telling him that he was right to be angry with her, and he wouldn't have to face the possibility that he was unfairly pointing a lifetime of hatred in her direction. Not only would that gall her on a personal level, it'd unbalance him even further, maybe to the point where she couldn't reach him anymore. Nice, quiet moments were all well and good, but she had to be able to talk to him about difficult things, not just chess and stupid jokes!

Frisk pressed her lips together, burning with determination. She turned to face the boss monster, though they were so close that she had to tip her head back. "I don't know what else you expected, Sans," she said firmly. "As things are now, monsters have no future. Short of killing literally every human alive, the only way for you to live in peace is to live with us and make the best of it. You don't have to like it, but you do have to acknowledge reality. May I ask if you have any better ideas?"

His eye was starting to leak a fine red mist. "Mmm, I dunno about _every_ human. We could start small, maybe a few hundred, work our way up."

That reminded her—partly out of curiosity and partly to distract him, she asked, "After you were imprisoned, did you stay put for all that time because you were waiting to kill whoever came to get you out?"

"Ding ding ding! Smart lady. Mostly." Sans suddenly reached down for her face. Frisk held steady as those huge, slightly pointed phalanges brushed her temple. "I did wanna get more information before I busted out, maybe identify who all had magic so I could kill 'em later." Something rustled her hair as Sans removed one of the golden flowers still tucked behind her ear, lifting it all the way back up to his eye level. "But I mostly wanted ta see exactly what kinda person thought they could box me up like yer little dumbshit boyfriend 'n his stupid-ass birds." A giant, horrible grin. The flower evaporated in a cloud of fine ash. "Then I was gonna snap their arms 'n legs an' wring their head off, nice 'n slow."

Frisk dug her nails into the ball of her thumb, controlling her own anger and, yes, fear. She had to stay calm and think very, very carefully about what she did next. She'd been trained in mediation—what was it Sister Maribelle had said? _"Pay attention to little asides or silly demands that they refuse to concede. There you'll often find the real heart of the matter."_

All right. She had anticipated some resistance to her proposition, but nothing this violent. Yes, he hated humans, and she hadn't touched that nerve so much as sucker-punched it. But why had he mentioned Luke like that, and why did he sound so bitter? Was he that offended at her comparing monsters to captive birds? Or...

...Good Lord. He couldn't be...jealous, could he? There was no way—but even if he was, why bring it up now? This argument had nothing to do with—

Unbidden, her mind flashed back to that moment in the hallway. She'd needed comfort so badly, and with someone she trusted right at hand, she'd been selfish enough to take it. Her body tingled at the memory of his hand resting on her back as she clung to him, and...

She still didn't understand what had happened to her heart. It didn't seem the kind of poetic, butterflies-in-the-stomach attraction she'd read about; this was literal attraction, keeping her against him for as long as possible. It'd felt absolutely wonderful, but a little frightening, like her – what did the monsters call it? – like her SOUL was literally stuck to him, and would tear loose from her chest if she tried to pull away. Was that normal? Maybe it was why so many romantic songs and poems mentioned a moment lasting forever...

Frisk shook herself. He'd been very patient with her hugging him, and pushed her away as lightly as usual, but she couldn't ask that of him again. There was no point speculating exactly how else he'd felt about it, or imagining anything more.

But there _was_ a point in speculating about how Sans felt now. He'd had to get up early to sit around with someone who was clearly interested in her and who she hadn't done much to discourage—probably a bit annoying, but not problematic until she went and threw herself into _his_ arms just a few hours later. It had probably come off as mixed signals at best, and leading him on or using him at worst. She could only suppose that it was still bothering him on some level, and then she'd brought it up amidst the stress of talking about monsters and slavery...

Well, Frisk wasn't going to give him a free pass to say or do whatever he wanted, but she wasn't nearly as angry anymore. "I won't apologize for having a workable plan towards peace, but I am sorry for likening you to birds," she said, keeping her voice quiet enough that he had to focus to hear it. "Lord Owen was a poor example, too. I don't even know if I'd like to see him again," she added.

Sans' aura receded ever so slightly, his brow creasing. "Why's that?" he rumbled, adding too late, "Not like I care. We're gettin' off topic."

Frisk was a little surprised herself. She let Sans see her hesitation as she thought out loud. "It's...tiny things. He's so perfect on paper, but..."

"But what?" snapped the skeleton.

"He didn't say 'Please' to the maid. No one in his family ever does," Frisk remarked. "They're not at all cruel to their servants, or even rude, necessarily. They just—and another thing. When he was moving my hand for Ruby to perch on, he was too rough. He scratched me a little when he took my bracelet off, which reminds me that I left it there. Wonderful." Despite herself, Frisk closed her eyes. Through the adrenaline of fighting with a volatile boss monster, she could feel exhaustion hovering on the periphery, clouding her judgment and keeping the words flowing: "You're almost twice his size, and you never manhandle me like that. He'd be more considerate if I asked him to, but I don't like his presumption. Did you notice how he smacks his lips when he eats? And unless he's changed completely in less than a year, his sense of humor is _boring._ " She cracked one eye open, suppressing a yawn. "I know I'm being spoiled and ridiculous, but I can't help it. He's rich, he's very kind, and his whole family would welcome me with open arms. I've dreamed of having a family my whole life! But, still, he just seems...adequate. Am I wrong for wanting more than that?"

Sans tilted his head at her. His eye was still pulsing red, but he was clearly thinking something over; she didn't know whether to be hopeful or put up a preemptive barrier.

A long moment later, with an even more visible effort, he pulled the scarlet haze almost all the way back into his bones. "I got an idea, too," he said roughly. "You an' me ain't gonna talk about this 'partner' crap any more, 'cause there's no point. But you tell yer King what ya just told me, if ya haven't already. Get the plans squared away for convertin' all yer shit to run on good ol' Mother Nature, not from breakin' anyone's ribs an' tearin' their SOUL out." His eye dimmed. "I'll take ya back to the Underground with me an' get you in ta see Asgore. Then you can ask him what _he_ thinks about it."

Frisk felt the blood drain from her face. "You...you want me to go to the Underground and speak with your King?"

He nodded shortly. "I won't lie t'ya, Frisk. I fuckin' hate yer plan. I'd never go along with it. But maybe he would, and he's the one in charge." The skeleton snorted. "And nah, I don't have any better ideas. Just...come back with me."

The thought of going to the Underground, and the way he said it—something in her chest unclenched, and just as swiftly squeezed itself back into a knot. Suddenly, all the exhaustion, tension, and frustration she'd been holding back threatened to boil over, and to her embarrassment, her eyes filled with tears.

The red vanished, all of it. "Frisk?" Sans leaned over her, orange pinpricks reappearing in his sockets. "C'mon, kid, don't do this again!"

"What if—" She had to stop and swallow a few times. "What if I'm tired, and you've just made my life a lot more complicated, and I _need_ to 'do this again'?"

"Oh, _I'm_ the complicated one?" Sans looked ready to launch into another tirade, but Frisk sniffled and rubbed her eyes, and the skeleton covered with his face with his hand instead. "O-kay. Ya know what I think? I think we both need a traditional All Souls nap. Sleepin's a good way ta honor dead people, right? It's all they do."

That startled a laugh out of her. "I'd argue if I could." She scrubbed her eyes again. "I need to think about this. It'd be quite an undertaking, but...who knows? I've already made you an emissary against your will. Maybe I can return the favor."

Sans perked up so much that she wondered if he was being sarcastic. But no, he just answered, "Sure, take all the time ya need. I'm still stayin' another, what, twenty days? That's forever." More somberly, he picked a golden flower from behind her other ear. "You'd be way better at it 'n me. King Asgore's not the same nice guy he used ta be, but I think he'd listen to ya. Either way, me 'n Tori would keep you safe," he said quietly.

Dirt. Frisk scratched her cheek where the petals had brushed it, wondering for the hundredth time how someone so big could move with that kind of gentle dexterity. She couldn't handle this right now. "I don't know," she tried to say, but her voice cracked.

The skeleton looked a little panicked. He glanced at the tabletop, guiltily moving a plate to cover the dent he'd made. "Nap time," he muttered.

Frisk nodded. Without another word, she rose and went into the office, and shut the door. She slid down against it to the floor, and tried not to burst into tears, or look at the couch, or think of the rosewood box hidden beneath the floorboards. But how could she not when he had flat-out asked her to go back with him?

That damned box. _"For you to reclaim, or not,"_ the Mother Superior had said the day Frisk left the convent.

Why had the old woman given it back to her? Why hadn't they thrown it away?

Why hadn't Frisk thrown it away?

What would happen if she just had Sans smash it? Would the orb evaporate, or would everything hit her at once? The thought was terrifying. She knew all too well that the women who ran the convent were neither sentimental nor faint-hearted; she couldn't imagine the state she must've been in for them to take that much. It had to have been literal life or death.

Frisk shook her head, giving one last sniff. Sans was right. She did need a nap. But when she thought of staying in here alone on the couch again, more tears started leaking out until she wanted to howl like a small child—again, the way she probably had when they first brought her to St. Brigid's.

This wouldn't do. The priestess wiped her eyes on her threadbare skirt and got to her feet. She didn't care if she woke Sans, he could always—

When she opened the door, she was met with a gigantic ribcage and a huge hand curled up in her face, ready to knock. Frisk leapt back with a little squeak. "Don't _do_ that!" she cried.

Sans had also jumped back. "What the crap?! Ya scared me half t'death!"

They glared at each other for a moment. Then Frisk's mouth twitched, and Sans tried to scowl, but snickered, and soon they were both laughing helplessly, leaning against the doorframe and the worktable, respectively. "Okay, okay," the boss monster managed. "If ya really hafta have another slumber party, c'mon."

Frisk giggled again, wiping her now-raw eyes. "Is that what you were doing? Inviting me back over?"

"Well..." The skeleton headed towards the bedroom, scratching the back of his skull. "I can't do my job when yer in another room, am I?" He opened the door wider for her. "'Sides, Pap's not here, an' I can't fall asleep unless I've been buggin' someone."

The priestess gave him a watery smile. "I missed you, too."

Sans turned an interesting shade, and muttered a general denial of missing anybody, which she ignored. "Hey, hold on a sec," he said as Frisk retrieved a large quilt and climbed into bed. "Where's yer fort?"

She stole the single pillow and plunked it down on the far side of the mattress. "It's a pretend fort." The young woman lay down facing him and shook out the quilt, draping it over herself and scrunching the corners into a sort of burrow. "There. I can't see you, and you can't see me," she said through the top, and yawned. "Come on. Don't make me put you to sleep."

Sans' mouth opened and closed a few times. "What, ya mean—"

"I mean that I'm tired, and so are you, so get into bed and be quiet. That's how naps work."

"But—"

"Sans."

The skeleton didn't bother arguing further. He stood for a moment, and turned to leave. He stopped. He shook his head, and reached for the doorknob.

A movement from deep within the quilt was his only warning before the now-familiar vibrations swept through him and his hand drooped, hanging limp at his side. She was cheating: her humming was too muffled to hear if he went any further out of the room. Telling himself this was against his will, Sans shut and locked the bedroom door, went back to the bed, and stretched out in his usual spot, letting his eyes close and his SOUL soften as the sound lapped at him.

It was so _nice_ to be safe with someone besides Papyrus, especially in a room big enough for him. He knew better than to be this happy with a human, and yet the thought of her really, actually coming home with him made him want to...he didn't know what, because he was out of practice at happiness. Smile, maybe? No, it was a deeper-down feeling than that. Grabbing her was out of the question. Sans tried to think of something else happy people were supposed to do, only to find that he couldn't move past the grabby option.

What did come to him was that quiet image of Kris holding his hand and beaming up at him. Yep, it still hurt. Hadn't he learned his lesson? He and Papyrus – all the monsters – had loved their little human buddy, and then he was gone, taking a tiny chunk of their SOULs with him.

 _It's not gonna happen this time,_ the boss monster argued with himself. _We couldn't have stopped those assholes from taking Kris away 'cause he was a kid. She's the High damn Priestess, and if she wants to be Underground, we just have to tell the Kings to go to hell, and no one else can tell her what to do. She won't have to leave, and she doesn't have to marry that scratchy little prick!_

The humming paused as Frisk pulled back the quilt to check if he was asleep. Sans grunted to let her know to keep going.

A patient sigh; the quilt came back up. "Sans?" she murmured.

"Hm?" The skeleton opened a citrine eye. "Wha?"

"Will you take me to the festival this evening? We can sleep until then, I promise."

"Hmm. D'I hafta put skin back on?"

"Yes, if you can. I don't want to make a scene. I just want to walk around, get some cider, and have my fortune told."

That made him open his other eye. "Fortune?"

"It's an All Souls tradition, a real one." Yawn. "There's a man, he charges too much, but everything he says..." Another yawn. "I have an important question. Don't want advice. Want to know what'll happen if I do or don't...something."

"Don't we all." Sans yawned, too. "Sure, we c'n go. Skin."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever ya want."

The humming resumed. As the world went fuzzy around the edges, Sans wondered idly what would happen if she did meet someone she liked. Couldn't he just kill the guy? If it happened a couple times in a row, word would get around, and she'd never have to marry anybody.

Yes. That was the perfect solution. Everything was perfect. Ignoring a little shiver of apprehension, Sans gave up thinking, and was asleep in moments.


	8. All Souls Day, Part 3

The streetlights were starting to flicker on as the sun drifted below the horizon. Despite the chill wind, the crowds were shoulder-to-shoulder at the booths lining the street, and the glow from open doors illuminated a continuous flow of people moving in and out of shops and taverns.

One of the busiest establishments was a large inn not far from the castle. Standing patiently outside it was a lone, black-haired young woman; several passers-by waiting to join the line paused for a second look at her. She was dressed simply enough in a dark gown and white shawl, but her skin shone pale and flawless in the streetlamp, eyes lined in black and lips a dark crimson—very striking, even among the other women and a few young men wearing high-contrast makeup for the holiday. She'd done her best to achieve that effect, and found she rather enjoyed the attention; it was a relief that no one had—

"Heyyy, young lady," slurred a voice in her ear. "You lost?"

—hit on her yet. Frisk sighed and shifted her weight away from the beery stranger. "My husband will be out in a moment, thank you. Goodbye."

The man scoffed and leaned in closer, trapping her against the people standing in line. "Aw, darlin', don't try to pull that on me. Where's your weddin' ring?"

Frisk blinked. She hadn't accounted for anyone being drunk _and_ observant. "Really, sir, I'm asking you nicely. Go away, or my husband will probably break your arm."

"Pffft! Right, right." The man made a grab at her shoulder. "C'mon, let's—"

Something large, swift, and angry loomed behind him. The bones of the stranger's hand went _grch_ as a bigger hand grabbed it. Before the man could react, a glass mug smashed into the back of his head, bouncing him off the brick wall and sending him sprawling. "'Scuse you, asswipe," the newcomer said conversationally.

"Sa—honey," Frisk reproved him, accepting a mug. "You promised not to make a mess."

"'m not makin' a mess, kitten. I'm cleanin' it up." Even in his disguise, Sans towered over most of the people in the street, especially the one moaning on the cobblestones. The human-shaped boss monster draped a long arm around Frisk's shoulders, glaring down. "Ya wanna fill me in on yer conversation, pal? Sounded pretty interestin'."

The man scrambled to his feet and hobbled off into the crowd. Sans watched him go, as if debating whether to follow, then checked the people around them. No one seemed fazed; the few paying attention were pleased to see justice served, and at least one man indicated Frisk and made congratulatory gestures at him.

Sans was more than content to stay like that, but Frisk elbowed his side, wiggling her shoulder. "Sorry," he muttered, removing his arm. "Just tryin' ta stay in character."

"It's fine. You were just pulling on me a little." The High Priestess discreetly adjusted her long black wig, one of many from her predecessor's collection. She took a sip of spiced cider, impressed that he hadn't spilled any. "This is fantastic! Thank you for standing in line. This isn't too much for you, is it?" She gestured at the crowds. "Do you want to go somewhere quiet for a bit?"

"'m doin' okay," he said, but he hadn't figured out how to lie yet with a human face: he kept twitching and wrinkling his nose at strange smells or touches, and every time he scratched his neck or ear, he visibly startled himself. "'s not like I couldn' feel anythin' at all before. This is just...more." The wind picked up, and his eye twitched again.

It would have been funny if she hadn't felt so guilty. "Here." Frisk took his free hand to guide him toward a side street, marveling at how different a human hand felt from a ten-foot skeleton's—smaller, of course, but rougher, and somehow a little colder. She felt his fingers tighten and just as quickly relax, trying not to squash her. She squeezed back, and had another pang of guilt as he twitched yet again. The poor thing must have felt so overwhelmed!

The alley was cold and dimly lit, but almost silent. She released him and wrapped both hands around her mug, examining the little spices floating in the amber liquid. "Have you ever tried cider before?" she asked over the rim of the glass.

"Nope." Sans took too deep a sniff and recoiled, then brought it up more cautiously. "I had some dried apple slices once, but nothin' like this." He took the tiniest sip, smacking his lips the way she'd specifically told him not to. "Huh. Not bad." Another, bigger sip. "This's pretty good. Ya sure I can't try one of the drink-drinks they had?"

"No alcohol, Sans. We don't need you getting drunk and taking us the wrong place by accident at the end of the night."

He made an eloquently disgruntled sound, and gulped down more cider.

Frisk leaned against the wall, shivering in the breeze. Sans moved to block the wind for her, and she murmured thanks as he hunched his shoulders. The collar of his overcoat was trimmed with white fur, his shirt a bright red; his borrowed face wasn't handsome, Frisk thought, but the rough features, light hair, and blue-gray eyes made an intense and interesting picture. She liked it.

"Man, that's good stuff," the boss monster remarked, tipping the last few drops out of the mug. He glanced at hers, still half full. "Ya gonna finish that? I don't wanna wait in line again."

This was a far cry from when he'd complained about her germs on that stupid fork, but he was being good – better than good – so Frisk handed him her mug, taking his empty one to the receptacle standing on the nearest street corner for that very purpose.

As she deposited the glass, a sound at the other end of the alley brought her up short. "What's up?" Sans asked at her shoulder.

"Uh..." Frisk listened, and felt her cheeks grow hot. "We should go. We should go back _right now_." She pointed to the brightly lit street behind them.

Sans wasn't paying attention. "What're they doin'?" To her mortification, he downed the rest of the cider, handed the glass to her, and started ambling toward the source of the noise.

"Sans!" The priestess grabbed his arm. "I said—"

They both froze as a small, motion-activated floodlight clicked on and fully answered his question. "Huh," he said distantly.

"Sorry!" Frisk half shouted at the couple, who...why were they still going?! She dropped the mug and yanked him back to the street, wondering how anyone could be that drunk already!

When she risked a glance at Sans, he looked thoughtful. "So...what was that? How were they not freezin' their butts off? You'd think they'd at least find someplace they could sit down and keep their clo—"

"Yes, you'd think!" For the first time, she wished the wind was colder on her face. The priestess stepped over to the first booth she saw. "Excuse me, ma'am. Where is the ferryman?" she asked hurriedly.

"The ferryman?" The woman behind the counter looked up and frowned in thought. "I don't know that he's here yet, dear. If he is, you'll find him near the old well on the far side of the square."

"Thank you very much." Frisk retrieved a two-dinar piece from the pockets of the dress she'd been sure to wear because it had pockets, and set it on the counter. "This way, S—honey."

"The hell are you guys talkin' about?" Sans asked as they waded back into the street, Frisk hanging on to his arm and ducking against him as crowd physics required.

"Remember, I wanted my fortune told? On All Souls Night, you're supposed to bob for apples and use the peels to tell the future, so actual fortune-tellers like to set up here. For years, I've been hearing about a man who uses some sort of card deck and is never, ever wrong. He always shows up near the river, so everyone calls him the ferryman. The problem is that he's never here at consistent times. He also charges anywhere from two hundred to a few thousand per fortune."

Sans was gaining sufficient knowledge of human society to say, "Holy shit, that's a lot. Are ya seriously gonna waste that much cash on some random guy playin' with picture cards?"

"No, I've spent all my money," Frisk said loudly, glancing around in case someone was listening, and he got the hint. The festival was fairly safe, but anything could happen in a large crowd; she was more glad than ever to have Sans with her.

They battled their way forward, the boss monster going first to carve out a path and the priestess steering him with a hand on his arm or back. "Let's stop for a minute," she said, on tiptoe, as they paused to let someone cross the street the wrong way. "See over there?" Down a nearby side street was an avenue full of tables set with white cloths, portraits, and tiny candles. "Those are all the altars for departed rulers and other public figures. Can we take a look?"

Sans waded them across and, when they were clear of the worst foot traffic, said to her, "Never seen one before. When we have a funeral, yer loved ones spread yer dust on somethin' that meant a lot t'you, 'n that's it. They don't need ta be reminded what ya looked like every single year after that."

Frisk shrugged as they turned a corner. "There's nothing wrong with rememberi—"

The words died as they faced the other side of the street. "Oh, damn," Sans said, surprised. "Look who it is, Fr—honeypie."

The priestess numbly followed him to join several other people around a large, opulent table, boasting golden candles, a lacy cloth, fresh flowers, and a huge portrait in a gilt frame. It showed a lovely woman standing on what looked like an opera stage and waving to the audience. Her white gown almost glowed in the stagelights, as did her crown of golden flowers; more flowers lay at her feet, as if thrown by the audience, matching the bouquet cradled in her arm. She was looking up, probably smiling at someone in the balcony.

A cold hand seemed to have closed around Frisk's throat. Why hadn't she realized this would be here? "Yes?" she croaked.

"Dunno if you heard about her when you were a kid, but her name's gotta be in yer history books." Sans was tapping on the brass plate under the portrait. "I'll be damned. They actually spelled it right." He traced the engraved letters by candlelight: CHARA DREEMURR. "You know the story?" Frisk shook her head blindly. "Seriously? Welp, she fell into the Underground as a kid, and the royals adopted her. She was basically our princess till she grew up an' went back t'the humans...I wanna say it was a little over twenty years ago. Then she came back with that last delegation as a goodwill ambassador, just in time ta get blown up. Poor Tori didn't stop cryin' fer weeks."

Frisk made a politely sympathetic noise and turned away. Sans leaned in to squint at the picture, poking the canvas the way people were not supposed to. "That's messed up. Ya know what this is? This's the way her last performance shoulda ended. That's the stage they set up for her, and that's what she was wearin' that day. It was right in the middle of her last song when the thing that was supposed t'do the lights expl—"

"Are you all right, miss?" someone asked nearby. To his horror, when Sans turned around, Frisk was sitting on the curb with her head between her knees. An older man and his wife were standing over her; the woman looked up as Sans zipped over. "Is she with you?" the lady inquired.

"Yeah. Hey, sweetheart. What's wrong? Ya feelin' sick?" Sans crouched to look into her face, but she didn't move.

The older woman clucked at him like a misbehaving horse. "Look at her shaking! Get her inside and warmed up, young man!"

"Okay, okay." At a loss, Sans stood up, and crouched again. "C'mon, hon, let's go. D'you need a piggyback ride?"

Frisk was quiet, but after a moment, he received a faint nod. The boss monster turned and knelt, and the older couple helped settle Frisk on his back. "Thanks," he said as they moved away, and set off in the direction they'd been heading before their detour. At least there were some nice humans, he mused. It was a better thought than wondering what was wrong with Frisk, or how weirdly easy it was to pet-name her.

He held on tight, but not too tight, as he rejoined the crowd. Frisk was too short to hold onto his neck without throttling him, so they'd tucked her arms under his for warmth and security. She was shivering, and he could feel her heart thundering like she'd just run a mile. Everything about her was as impossibly soft as he remembered from...was it really just this morning that she'd hugged him? It felt like a year ago.

Someone jostled them, pushing her leg into him. Sans instinctively turned and snarled, "Watch where yer goin'!"

The erstwhile skeleton hadn't meant to raise his voice so much, but he didn't regret it: the crowd hastily gave way as he stomped towards the nearest building. He'd kept such a tight rein on himself since they left the castle that as long as she was acting as though this was all normal, he found that he could, too; it was actually kind of fun. But now he found himself glaring around them, almost hoping someone else would bother her. He didn't know whether it was a normal body-guarding mindset or if he'd simply gone too long without killing something.

They entered a candy shop with displays of sugar skulls, candied apples, and bottled cider. Sans found a chair against the wall and set her down, making sure she could sit up. "Heya. You okay?" he asked as she raised her head.

"I'm...I'm fine." It was as lying a lie as he'd ever heard, but Frisk did look better. She rubbed her arms and glanced around. "I'm sorry about that. ...Can I please have a caramel apple?"

Sans would have given her the entire display case – the entire store – if she wanted. He still had some "allowance," as he called the portion of his salary she'd given him before they left, and procured two apples and a bottle of cheap cider for them. She tried a sip of the latter, didn't quite make a face, and tore a huge bite out of her apple instead. "Better?" he asked.

Frisk nodded blissfully. "I didn't think I was that hungry," she said around her mouthful. "We should get a turkey leg on our way through the square."

He had no objection to that, especially when he tried a nibble of caramel apple and got his teeth stuck. Frisk held in her laughter fairly well, and nobly volunteered to eat the rest for him.

She did seem better, so he allowed her to walk, ignoring the little whine in his SOUL that wanted her closer. The festival was in even fuller swing now, but he plowed his way through to a turkey leg stand and got one for them to pass back and forth as they walked. It tasted as good as it smelled, which was _amazing._

Sans was on the verge of stopping to ask if she knew where they were going when she tugged at his sleeve. "There's the old well. See the river? Let's start there."

As it happened, they didn't need to start there. No sooner had they looked at the wharf than a streetlight switched on to reveal a heap of black robes smack in the middle of the street, seated behind an oddly carved table. Both the robes and the table turned in their direction as Frisk jumped and Sans held out a protective arm. "Tra la la," said the robes.

People behind them had noticed and were starting to surge forward, fumbling in their pockets. "The lady first," the fortune-teller ordered, stopping them in their tracks.

Feeling unusually self-conscious, Frisk stepped around Sans and stood in front of the table. She had a feeling that she didn't want to look too hard under that hood; its whole figure was disquieting. "I have two questions," she said. A glance behind them confirmed a growing, impatient press of people standing a few feet away, kept at bay by Sans' glare. "Er...can I ask you privately?"

"You can't." The otherworldly voice was very matter-of-fact. "More detail, more money." There was an impressive pause. "Tra la la," it added helpfully.

"I...see." Frisk dug into her pocket and flipped the lining inside out. "I saved all year for this," she said, in case someone saw that she had placed a thousand-dinar piece on a shadowed part of the table.

"Tra la no, you didn't. Ask."

The priestess cleared her throat. Fortune-telling was all in the phrasing, so she had to be very careful. "Why did the thing from my nightmares want me to hurt him?"

A tiny flash of blue under the hood. She expected to see cards or some other divination tool, but it merely said, "He does not belong here. The child has unfinished business with him, and you are its strongest connection." The figure seemed to look at the coin for a moment. "If you want to know more, don't ask me. Beware the man who speaks in hands—he won't charge you. Tra la la."

The people waiting behind them were unimpressed, and Frisk was lost, but Sans made an incoherent sound. She looked at him, but no explanation was forthcoming, just a strange expression.

Well, if there was a chance Sans could tell her something, she wasn't going to try to get more on that subject out of the strange fortune-teller. "Second question," she said, trying not to let her voice wobble. This was the big one, so she fished another coin out and slid it next to the first.

The robed head tilted, probably because she'd just put down another five thousand. "Ask."

She swallowed. "What will be the principal differences in my life should I choose to open it, versus leaving it alone?"

There was a hissing sound, as if the figure was breathing out, or in. "An excellent question, Your Eminence." Frisk winced as the crowd whispered among itself, but the voice from under the robes went on, "You're very lucky. Most changes in life result from a thousand tiny decisions snowballing into major events, and there is no telling which of them nudged you in what direction. But you, my lady, are at a crossroads. You have two distinct futures, depending on a single choice."

The people behind them were quiet now, listening in keen interest. Frisk was half-consciously holding her breath.

"If you throw the box away, your life will be much as you expect. You will have a kind, wealthy husband who will take an interest in your happiness and be a loving father to your four children." Frisk's eyes widened, but she didn't dare interrupt him. "Your current efforts will not bear fruit, but they will be baby steps towards your mutual goal, to be possibly realized by your descendants. Your life will be like that of many others, full of little triumphs and large regrets. You will have much, and you will die of old age, surrounded by caring in-laws and adoring grandchildren, able to look back on a life that was...adequate."

"Holy fuck," Sans muttered, and Frisk felt light-headed.

"Should you open the box..." The robes were silent for a long moment. "Tra la la."

Frisk could have killed him, or her, or it. But then:

"Should you open the box, my lady, your worst fears will be confirmed. You will regain more than you ever suspected you've lost. The pain of that sorrow and regret will be unbearable for a time, and they will not be yours alone. But...neither will the joy, or the love, or the _power_."

Another pause. Was that it?

"Tra la la. You will lose and gain one father, discard and gain one mother, and be richer for it. Your family will be innumerable, though you will bear only one child...who you will attempt to bring to see me at this very festival next year. I will not be here, and you will in fact never see me again, but your child's father will be unable to stop you from coming to check."

Frisk's mouth fell open as the crowd tittered behind them. "Next—"

"You will change the entire world, largely for the better, though you will have to work tirelessly to achieve your goal and maintain peace. You will not die an old woman, but you will have lived five times as much. Your triumphs will be great and your regrets...manageable." The figure sat back. "You may choose only one future. To attempt otherwise will grant you neither."

There was a deeply impressed silence. The crowd would probably have applauded if Sans hadn't slammed his hands on the table and demanded, "Who's the father gonna be?"

More silence. Then the crowd started snickering, then laughing, and then nearly rolling on the ground after the look Frisk gave him. It took Sans a moment to remember that they were posing as a couple, and that casting doubt on her potentially-soon-to-be child's parentage might not reflect well on either of them, and his expression made the people laugh even harder.

The robed figure didn't move, except to look at the coins sitting on the table, then at him. Sans had just enough presence of mind to fumble in his overcoat and randomly toss out two hundred. "There! Also, what happened to Kris? How's my brother doing? Was that lord guy telling the truth?!"

The robes rose and fell in a great sigh. "Don't kill anyone."

They waited, breathless. Sans gestured impatiently. "Yeah? And?"

"And..." The fortune-teller turned to the crowd. "Tra la la. Next, please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than usual, but I couldn't resist. 
> 
> Do you guys prefer shorter chapters more often, or meatier ones spaced out?


	9. Questions

Sans and Frisk did not have a slumber party that night.

No, once they returned from the festival and she finished telling Sans exactly what she thought of his behavior, Frisk sent him to his room, then went to the office and stayed there. Not on the couch: she sat down at her desk to make a few notes while the fortunes were still fresh in her mind. By the time she was done, it was after dawn, her hand was one solid cramp, she'd lost all feeling in her rear, and she had filled up five sheets of paper.

Regarding the child – the one from her nightmares – there wasn't much to write, just key phrases that she suspected would be more intelligible when she'd tracked down the man who spoke in hands. Would Sans have mentioned it if he knew some way in which he didn't belong here? It could simply be his stay in the castle, but it felt bigger than that. She'd had nightmares about that horrible child throughout her entire life, and it had never wanted her to do anything before; had it known she'd meet him, and would its "business" be finished if she killed him?

For now, it was all morbid conjecture. She'd put it aside until she could talk to Sans without wanting to pull his arm off and slap him with it.

So. If she didn't open the box, her life would be adequate. There was a _lot_ to be said for adequacy. Her children would have wealthy, loving parents, and never suffer from hunger, loneliness, beatings—the kind of pain that was all behind her now, the same way a loaded wagon is behind the horse pulling it. Staying busy with her lessons in the strict, orderly convent and then her duties as High Priestess had kept Frisk going, preventing her from having to look over her shoulder. Would marrying Luke keep it that way?

She had gone years without really thinking of her life before St. Brigid's, except for fleeting apprehensions about having to explain the scars to her future husband. Why in God's name would she want to dig that up in the course of remembering something even worse?

By definition, she didn't know the exact contents of the rosewood box. She just knew that when she was about thirteen, one of her teachers had finally explained to Frisk why she couldn't recall anything between her tenth birthday and her second month at the convent: _"We could do nothing with you when you first arrived. No food, no rest, just tears and 'Take me back, please' for_ weeks _on end,"_ Sister Clair had told her, almost accusingly. _"Your father came to see you for himself, and he was so distraught that he gave the Mother Superior his blessing to do whatever she thought needful."_

Frisk had always accepted that the sisters knew best; her father's influence had probably been a factor, but it wouldn't have pushed them to take such a drastic step if it hadn't been absolutely necessary. She herself had done her fair share of comforting frightened or homesick new arrivals, and no matter how distressed they were, none of _them_ had had their memories removed.

She also had come to terms with her father returning home from his visit without her. Her first solid recollection at the convent was of the Mother Superior taking her aside to tell her exactly who her father was, ensuring she understood why he hadn't been a more direct part of her life and why she would be staying here from now on. Accustomed to receiving girls born out of wedlock, the Mother had emphasized how lucky Frisk was that her father had come forward – discreetly – to acknowledge her and pay for her education, and that he would ensure she had everything she needed from then on. Even as a child, Frisk had appreciated how superior the convent was to her prior circumstances, and agreed that she was fine at St. Brigid's.

The only mystery to Frisk was why she had initially been so desperate to leave. She couldn't have been crying for her father; she'd always been told that he was dead, and never thought to question it. Frisk had seen over and over again that mistreated children never wanted to leave their parents, no matter how awful they were, but her mother had only visited her every few months throughout her early life, and once Frisk realized that Mama was never going to keep her promise to take her with her, Frisk had grown to hate seeing her. She hadn't been attached to anyone at the group home where she'd stayed as a very little girl, and when she was old enough to work in the castle kitchens, her only goal had been to avoid being noticed. What had she wanted so badly?

Since Sans had arrived, she had been more and more tempted to try something stupid and just crack the orb or chip off a few figuratively bite-sized pieces. But that wasn't how the magic worked, was it? The sisters had been very specific on how to take the memories back if she so chose, and her fortune had also made it clear that this was an all-or-nothing proposition. She would fully open the box and reclaim the contents, or throw them away for good, no peeking allowed.

At that point, Frisk almost stopped writing and tossed her notes into the fireplace. What was she doing? Why wouldn't she choose a long life with a respectable husband and four children? True, her efforts to free monsters from slavery wouldn't work, but that didn't mean she'd be totally useless. Besides helping humans – always a full-time job – there was still plenty she could do for monsters in captivity, and she'd lay the groundwork for others to finish what she'd started. After centuries of hatred and mistrust, it made sense that humanity wasn't ready yet to accept monsters as equals; she couldn't change the entire world on her own, so—

Except that she could. She _could_ change the world for the better if she worked hard enough to achieve her goal, which she knew in her bones to be humans and monsters living in peace. But how could her lost memories possibly be the one thing that made the difference? And if they were, how was she supposed to deal with that much pain, knowing it would also affect at least one other person?

...But what about the joy, the love, the power, also to be shared? What about the child she'd bear in time for next year's All Souls festival?

That was another worry: the ferryman had said "your husband" for the first future, but "your child's father" in the second. That didn't seem accidental. Frisk knew herself, and she had no idea what would induce her to conceive a child with someone she wouldn't or couldn't marry, no matter how attractive he was or how lonely she might be. With her own morals and her mother's example to go on, she'd sooner die than let a married man near her, and she'd kill him if she found out after the fact!

Surely the fortune-teller would've mentioned the child resulting from violence or coercion? Its wry tone had implied that the father would be unable to talk her out of going to the festival, not that she'd escape from his clutches, which also eliminated the possibility of one night with someone she'd never see again or a man who would die before the baby was born.

So, in summary, she would have little triumphs, large regrets, old age, a decent husband, money, kids, in-laws, and grandkids. Very simple.

...Granted, it...didn't sound _quite_ like the life she'd always craved, with joy and love, real parents, a huge family, and monsters freed in her lifetime, not to mention a man she loved enough to have his illegitimate child...and maybe Frisk could see Luke assuring her with a straight face that he'd "take an interest in her happiness," and maybe it was already making her cringe. Maybe she was already wealthy enough to marry anyone she wanted. Maybe she intended to keep working hard enough that, when she thought it over, she found she would much rather have one child than divide her attention between four who could very well end up being raised by servants. Maybe all these things were true.

...What was she trying to say again?

Right. Maybe all these things were true. There was still no avoiding the fact that she'd be exchanging a life of peace and stability for every bit of the heartbreak that had nearly killed her as a child, and somehow also share it with someone else. Was she stupid enough to open the box anyway out of curiosity, like the woman in the fable?

A treacherous little voice whispered in reply: _Are you selfish enough to keep monsters enslaved because you're afraid of being hurt?_

Frisk shoved the papers into a drawer and eased out of her chair, shaking her hand vigorously as the sun peeped in through the high window. It'd be time for breakfast soon. She wouldn't take Sans to pieces; she'd let him sleep in, then have him experiment with the alfalfa mixtures while she napped, though they'd need fresh seedlings before he could really get started. The supplies she had already ordered should be arriving this afternoon, which would enable them to try even more—

Sans was not sleeping. Sans was sitting in the middle of the workroom floor with no clothes on. He was holding a book up over his head and squinting at the words as though he'd never seen letters before, and gave a very elongated "Heyyyy" when he heard the door open.

Frisk stopped dead. "Hey," she responded. "What are you doing, Sans?"

"Wheeee," the skeleton said, and demonstrated by falling onto his back. The book stayed up, and his legs fell every which way, one bumping into a chair pulled away from the worktable and the other almost hitting the bedroom door. "'s hot in here," he explained, pointing at the ceiling.

Frisk looked at the ceiling, then at the windows. They were all wide open, and the workroom was _freezing_. She had the completely irrational urge to cover her eyes, and compromised by turning her back and heading to the windows. "We're going to pretend that it's not hot in here," she said carefully. What on earth was wrong with him?

In the time it took for her to shut one window and place her hand on the latch, Sans had appeared inches away. One enormous phalange wobbled its way up to push her hand aside. "No, 's hot," he explained.

The priestess was equal parts annoyed and concerned now, especially when he teetered against the wall. "Sans, if I did not know better, I would say you were drunk. Have you been mixing things without telling me?" She eased away from him, just in case.

The skeleton seemed to take umbrage: his eyes lit up. "Ya don' know better. I am abso _lute_ ly drunk!" Just as quickly, his sockets were blank. He peered at the tiny-looking book in his hand and turned it to her, tapping a random word. "How d'ya say this? It's human. How do you human. Please."

Frisk eased back a little more, trying not to look at his pelvis, which was far too close to her eye level. "That's the word 'the,' Sans. If that's not the one you mean, I will have to ask you to be more specific." Should she make a break for the bedroom, or just put up a barrier while she had the chance?

Sans laughed. "Damn, yer cute! Lessee." He dropped the book and continued trying to flip pages in midair. A moment later, he realized his mistake, scowled, and lifted the book on a wisp of red. "Hold on. 's tryin' ta get away." Even the magic had trouble staying steady, she noted uneasily.

Someone knocked on the double doors, and Frisk heaved a sigh of relief. "You can find the word while I answer that, all right?" She lifted a foot to step around him.

Unbelievably quick, Sans sat down, extended a hand, and caught her around the middle in a loose, ironclad grip. Across the workroom, the bar on the doors glowed red and lifted; the doors swung open. "There," said the boss monster, tugging her closer and frowning at the book. "Who's what y'want?"

It was Dr. Serif, who stopped on the threshold, raised an eyebrow as high as it would go, and closed the doors behind him. "Good morning?" he inquired.

"Hands," the skeleton replied, still searching the pages for that errant word.

The priestess was still trying to comprehend what was happening. Was this some kind of bizarre prank, or a distraction from talking about last night? The longer he held on, the less likely either possibility seemed—he was too calm and too comfortable, as if this was something he was doing simply because he wanted to do it.

Here they were, then. With Sans seated and her standing, the giant skeleton could fold his arm and hold Frisk against him like a child cuddling a teddy bear, fingers spread across her upper legs and torso, her shoulders resting on his clavicle. This wasn't quite as scary as the last time he'd grabbed her, but...

Frisk tested his grip and was unsurprised to find that, though his phalanges were angled not to dig into her, they were about as movable as solid rock. "We're having a very interesting morning," she said to Dr. Serif, and mouthed _Help!_

"I can see that," said the doctor, who gestured for her not to move, then came forward a few steps. Sans' head swiveled, eyes fully lit, and the royal sorcerer turned his next step into a half bow. "I am glad to hear that you had a good time at the festival last night, my lady. Rumors are brewing about a woman with a highly interesting fortune who was called 'Your Eminence,' but no one is willing to swear that it was you."

That sounded like one problem too many. "Good" was all she could think to say.

"I can't find it," complained Sans. He tossed the book out the window. "Gimme another one, pl's."

"You can have it later," Frisk said acidly. That was her old science textbook from the convent, with her notes and doodles in the margins!

"Sans," said the doctor, "where are your clothes?"

The skeleton blinked at him, sockets still wide orange. "Off," he said, as though the sorcerer was being stupid.

"Of course. How silly of me." Dr. Serif bowed vigorously, letting the motion carry him forward. "Tell me, what did you have to drink at the festival?"

"This asshole was comin' onta her." The skeleton's now-free hand patted Frisk very lightly on the head. Despite her irritation, the priestess couldn't help smiling. "I hit 'im with cider," said Sans. "Damn good cider. 'sat why those people were goin' at it, Frisk?" he asked curiously.

The priestess was no longer smiling. "Sans intervened on my behalf when a man wouldn't leave me alone," she explained to the straight-faced doctor. "We tried some apple cider—why can I still smell it on you, Sans? And yes, we saw a couple who couldn't wait until they found somewhere private. I have no idea what they'd been drinking, but it wasn't what we were having."

"Hmmm." Dr. Serif watched Sans, who was examining the back of Frisk's head, then produced a scroll from his robe pocket. "The monster Snowdrake has been confiscated from his owners, effective immediately. I've brought the paperwork for you to take official custody, my lady. He will be here once the captain of the guards has finished questioning him."

Sans started. Frisk tugged at the skeleton's enormous metacarpals. "Let me go, Sans, please."

Very reluctantly, his hand uncurled to let her wriggle free. Trust the doctor to be a step ahead of everyone, she thought as she accepted the scroll, unaware that Sans was staring fixedly at him. The priestess smoothed out the papers on the worktable and began skimming through it.

Sans turned around so that he could stretch out on the floor lengthwise. The doctor wrinkled his nose at the colossal skeleton, then peered over Frisk's shoulder as she came to several blank lines for an address. "Where is that, my lady?" he asked as she began writing.

"It's a house I own on the edge of the city. I've been renting it out, but the current tenants have already moved for the winter, so I'm putting it down as Snowdrake's official residence."

"Well done." Dr. Serif glanced at Sans, then suddenly flicked his fingers across Frisk's back. "Forgive me, Your Eminence," he said as she jumped, "there was a spider. We'll have to have your rooms cleaned soon."

The High Priestess scratched her back, gave him a terse nod, and went back to the scroll, moving away from him.

Sans was on his feet. He said to Frisk, "'Scuse us, kitten," then grabbed the doctor and vanished.

She wondered why he was so upset, and why he'd teleported Dr. Serif just a few feet away into the office. Well, at least he'd let go of her without a fight. Should she check on him to be sure he wouldn't hurt the doctor?

After a moment, she shook her head. She'd have to let them hash it out. What was the worst that could happen?

~

The moment they reached the office, Gaster dropped his disguise, summoned six extra hands, and gripped the boss monster's arms before Sans could dismember him. "Easy, now," the older skeleton cautioned him. "Don't disrupt Her Eminence any more than you already have."

"Oh yeah? 'll disrupt yer fuckin'—"

 _Smack_. "Hold still," the doctor rasped, and Sans jerked convulsively as a hand gripped the back of his skull. A moment later, the hand disappeared and left Sans with his eyes shut tight. "Can you think now, insofar as you are capable of it?" snapped Gaster.

Sans blinked at the hands grasping his arms. They disappeared, too, and Sans looked down at himself. "What." He twisted around to look at his backside. "The hell are my clothes? What'd ya do?"

"I sped up the metabolism of the ethanol molecules that were causing you to lose track of your clothing and treat the High Priestess like a toddler with his favorite toy. In short, you were drunk, and you no longer are. Would you care to tell me how much alcohol it took to inebriate someone your size so many hours after the fact, and how you did so without the lady knowing?"

Sans had gone red. "All I had last night was turkey an' cider!" he protested. "She wouldn't let me try anythin' else! She had the exact same stuff, 'n _she_ didn't get plastered!"

The older skeleton regarded him with narrowed eyes, which was extremely creepy. It made Sans think of Frisk's first question, the one about the child from her nightmares—had Frisk been talking about him? If so, then how did he not belong here? Did the kid's unfinished business with him involve murder? Why?

Why should they beware the man who spoke in hands?

Gaster started to speak, and Sans cut him off: "Were you tryin' ta piss me off back there? Are ya after Frisk, or d'you just wanna screw with me? Whaddya _want?"_

"To help," the doctor said calmly.

Sans sat down with a mighty _thmp._ "Ta help. Of course. Why didn't I realize that already?" He tapped his phalanges on the carpet. "Who are you helpin', besides yerself?"

"That is a very large question." Gaster also sat down, on the edge of the desk. "My most immediate goal since Frisk became High Priestess has been to aid her in restoring peace between monsters and humans. The longer I have worked with her, the more I find that, frankly, I like her, and I would like her to be happy if possible." No sooner had the words left him than a hand sprang up in front of Sans, who was already fully aglow. The hand held up a finger long enough for Gaster to add, "Which is to say, I admire her caring heart, her singing voice, her magical prowess...her determination. Would you agree?"

Sans' eyes felt ready to burn clean through his skull. Frisk would get even more upset with him if her office was destroyed, so he tried to say something civil, or at least something okay, or something that wouldn't get him smacked again. But he couldn't.

The hand waggled again, then vanished. "Everything I say and do is for one ultimate purpose, my boy: to gather data. I can help no one if I have insufficient information. Take you, for example." The older skeleton folded an extra set of hands in the air over his lap, like a lecturer settling in at the start of class. "Since the High Priestess made you her apprentice, I have considered your intractability to be an impediment to her plan. I ensured that she had a means of preventing your escape, and I have been monitoring your relationship to see if you were developing any kind of rapport. Now that you have, though, you have become a very different sort of problem."

The boss monster was still at a loss. Gaster was quiet, but it didn't feel as if he was trying to antagonize him again; this seemed more careful, almost sad, thought Sans. "In that respect, I have all the data I need," the doctor said. "I assure you that I have no personal designs on Her Eminence, and I will not imply anything further to that effect." He was looking through Sans now, almost talking to himself. "The more I resolve to be of use, the more difficult it becomes to discern where usefulness ends and interference begins. I am more inclined to let matters go where they will from here on, especially after the advice Her Eminence received last night. But..." The slashes on Gaster's face deepened. "It cannot hurt to exchange information. For example, did you notice that the 'ferryman' is a monster?"

"I..." Sans got his thoughts back in order, contemplated the fortune-teller and his cat-shaped table, and found himself nodding slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I kinda did. He didn't seem very human."

Gaster chuckled. "It's strange how these things work. Where I come from, he _is_ the ferryman in the Underground."

"Where you come from?" A chill crept down Sans' spine. He tried to force a laugh. "We just have a coupla Royal Guards runnin' our ferry. Wha, is there more'n one Underground 'round here?"

"No. There is not." The smile faded. "Now, my turn. None of the people who heard Frisk's fortunes told were listening closely to her first question, or the answer. What exactly were they?"

Sans still had that prickly feeling, like someone had held a door open too long and he'd glimpsed something he couldn't unsee. He probably shouldn't tell the man who speaks in hands that they were supposed to beware of him, should he? "Yeah, she asked about something from her nightmares that wanted her to hurt somebody. He said it's a child who wants Frisk to kill someone who doesn't belong here, something about it having 'unfinished business,' and that Frisk was its connection."

The doctor waited patiently as Sans hesitated. "I'm pretty much positive she meant me," the boss monster continued. "I saw the kid once, and I could tell it hates my guts." The boss monster took a moment to indicate that he didn't have guts, ha ha, but Gaster was unamused. "So that means _I_ don't belong here, and some freaky little ghost wants Frisk t'finish me off? I guess? Any chance ya know what any of that means?" He scratched his patella, wondering if it was his imagination or if his body was feeling a little more touch-sensitive than usual, like his human self.

Come to think of it, he could sort of smell the air in here, though it wasn't as strong as any of the ones he'd encountered at the festival. And now he could vaguely remember Frisk being right up against him a minute ago, and that her hair had smelled like...a smell. All he knew was that he had liked it, and letting her go had sucked.

...Crap. What were they talking about again?

"I see," murmured Gaster. He looked down at his extra hands. "Forgive me if this sounds dramatic, or if it's very personal, but have you ever felt especially out of place, or dreamed vividly of things that you are sure never happened to you?"

It was more than a chill this time. "Yeah, but I figured everybody feels like that sometimes. I've had the same nightmares my whole damn life, over and over. They stopped when I came here and started sleepin' inside her barrier. So..." He scowled, trying to cover his fear. "Somethin' is makin' us both see things? Is that it?" He suddenly sprang to his feet. "Is that why I used ta dream about ya? Are _you_ behind all this shit?!"

Two skeletal hands flew at him and stopped just short of his eye sockets. Sans froze, feeling sick and cold inside as he stared through the holes in the palms. Those hands, coming at him—

Gaster gave a long, tired, defeated sigh. "Data. I am sorry, Sans. This will be very unpleasant, but I need to know if it is familiar to you. Hold still, please."

Before the boss monster could react, a third hand dropped onto the top of his skull and—

~

_It was cold. Dark, darker, yet darker._

_Papyrus wasn't moving. Sans struggled out of the restraints, threw himself onto the tiles and screamed at his brother, trying to shake the little skeleton awake, but pieces were already flaking off. Helpless tears streamed from Sans' sockets, soaking the dust into pink mud._

_"Messy."_

_Sans whirled around, choking with grief and rage. He'd always promised himself he would kill the bastard before he let him hurt Pap! Why hadn't he—_

_Hands smashed into his spine, his ribs, and one square over his face, the palm large enough for both his sockets to see out through the hole. "I never could fix that design flaw," their creator said in distaste, poking at the red streaking Sans' cheekbones. "Strange...I always thought you'd break first. Ah, well." A philosophical sigh. "Now, the question of whether to finish with you and create a better set, or try a fresh copy of that one first. What do you think, Sans?"_

_There was a deep sound from behind Dr. Gaster, almost a snarl. It was Gaster's turn to whip around, his face contorted in surprise and every one of his hands flung up to defend himself. A flash of light, searing pain—_

_Footsteps. A dark figure bent over him. Sans whimpered as Gaster loomed back into his field of view. He should have known better than to hope he was dead!_

_But...Gaster seemed different, almost another person—paler, the cracks in his face more shallow and less splintered than the ones Sans had stared down his whole life. The hand that rested on Sans' forehead was...gentle? "I am so sorry, child," the scientist said quietly. "Forgive me."_

_Sans couldn't answer. He felt as if his bones were getting softer, his body lighter. When Gaster sighed, Sans watched tiny bits of himself blow away in the puff of breath. It was almost a relief to feel his SOUL flicker out like a candle and finally die._

_~_

Sans clawed his way back to consciousness, sitting up so hard that he nearly banged his head on the desk. He looked around, but there was no laboratory equipment, no tile floors or piles of murky dust, just the desk in her office.

Frisk's office. He was here. He wasn't dead, Pap wasn't dead, Gaster wasn't—

"Please do not move."

The boss monster froze in place. "Now, tell me," the doctor said, shutting the door. "Have you had that nightmare before?"

Sans nodded imperceptibly. "Yeah. Long...a long time ago." He couldn't stop shaking.

He flinched as Gaster patted his shoulder blade. "Please don't be frightened, Sans. It was only a dream. I have never hurt you or your brother, and I have no intention of ever doing so." A black coat drifted past Sans' peripheral vision as the royal sorcerer went behind the desk. "To answer your last question, no, I have not sent any of your nightmares, or hers. As I said, I am here to acquire information. I try to avoid collateral damage in the pursuit thereof, but it is not always possible. For that, I sincerely apologize. I've asked Frisk for her help in calming you down."

Sure enough, a sound was coming through the door behind him. It was faint, but as Sans listened, he recognized her humming a slow, sweet little song. Out of her entire repertoire, that one was probably his favorite; he hadn't heard it in so long that he'd been on the verge of swallowing his pride and asking her to do it again. Had Gaster requested that one specifically, or did she know?

Gaster watched the tension fade from the boss monster's massive frame, and the smallest movements of his skull as he bobbed his head along. The doctor examined the center of Sans' chest, his eyes going very wide. Sans was too mellow to ask what he was looking at...probably his SOUL. Eh, whatever.

Presently, the royal sorcerer said, "Snowdrake should be en route now. Her Eminence is still checking that the papers are in order, as well as the deposit she will have to put down until the Church finds another buyer for him." A dry chuckle. "If I know Frisk, Snowdrake will not be sold again. In the unlikely event that someone discovers she's lost track of him, she will be rebuked and lose her deposit, and that will be all."

Sans moved his shoulder back. "She's not gonna get fired or locked up?"

"They wouldn't dare. Not for her first offense, and not for neglecting a single low-ranked monster. Our High Priestess is protected by very powerful connections."

That word took Sans right back to the child from her nightmares. "Why'd you show me that horrible thing with me 'n Pap, and how? I didn't see the ghost kid anywhere. Is the little psycho mad about that dream 'cause it wanted ta kill me first? What the hell _is_ it, anyway?"

"One thing at a time, please. Overall, you may be on the right track, but that's a matter I would rather discuss with Frisk. I—"

"Quit callin' 'er by name. I thought you weren't gonna pull that crap anymore."

Gaster merely smiled. "If you'll bear with me for a moment, the best answer I can give you is that the mind is a terrifyingly powerful thing." Sans bit back his impatience as the doctor settled himself again. "When someone has suffered greatly, especially early in life, it is natural to try to move past those experiences as quickly as possible. But if the mind is active, intelligent, _and_ magically gifted, failure to properly acknowledge these experiences can backfire very badly. Inner demons may become reality, or outside forces with malevolent intent take notice, or both."

"Geez." Sans rubbed the corners of his eyes, wondering where the hanky was. "Yeah, that'd explain why I never got any sleep before I shacked up with someone who could block 'em for me."

A beat of cold silence. "I am not talking about you."

The giant skeleton paused mid-rub. "Ya mean—"

"Most people in a great deal of pain will express it as destructive behavior toward themselves or others. It takes remarkable determination to turn that negativity into the drive to protect other people, rather than lashing out." The doctor shook his head. "I am impressed that she has not seen anything worse than the specter of an evil child. The fact that it can be stopped with a barrier suggests it is primarily external in nature, and her recognizing its intent without acting upon it is also a good sign."

Sans winced. "So, is she seeing it 'cause she's mad at me? Am I in any actual danger?"

Gaster laced his fingers together. "Its power and its ability to work through her will depend both on her intrinsic strength and the energy she has left after dealing with other problems—say, a protege who interrupts an expensive fortune-teller with crude questions in front of dozens of people, and then says 'See you next year' as she tries to get him away."

At this point, Sans would have been surprised if word of that incident _hadn't_ gotten around. "Ya think she's still mad at me?" he asked sheepishly.

"I am not her, so I cannot say for certain, but I can ask you whether you've apologized yet."

"I didn't get a chance! She reamed me out 'n made me go straight t'bed!"

"After which you were drunk this morning, which I still do not understand, and during which you took sizable liberties." A hand popped up to rap Sans on the skull. "At the risk of interfering further, I strongly advise you to ask yourself whether you want to be a friend or a problem."

Sans digested this in silence. The royal sorcerer glanced at the door. "We have a few more minutes. I'd like to ask you a few more questions—nothing terrible, just some odds and ends I've wanted to discuss for some time now. You may do the same."

The boss monster thought it over for a moment. "What's everyone sayin' about her second fortune, the one with the box?"

"Your turn is already over." Two more hands appeared over Gaster's head, one holding a pen and the other a small notepad. "Now, you were a normal skeleton for most of your life, correct? And Papyrus remains as he was?" The hand with the pen swooped down and tapped on Sans' upper leftmost fang, then the top of his skull. "Hm. Intact. How interesting."

Sans swatted at the hand, which evaded him as nimbly as a bug and swooped back up to scratch something on the notepad. "Yeah, Pap's still Pap, and I wasn't born a big ol' freak. Don't ask how that happened, 'cause I don't wanna talk about it."

"Fair enough. Tell me, Sans, do you or have you ever smoked?"

"Smoked? From where?"

The doctor laughed. "I'll take that as a no." Scritch, scritch went the pen. "Do you have a predilection for violence? If so, is it against other monsters, humans, or both?"

"Uh...yes? Humans?"

"I see." Scriscritch. "What is your favorite food? Do you prefer any condiments in particular?"

"My favorite food's whatever I can eat! Haven't you heard what's happenin' in the Underground? Where the hell are you from, exactly?"

Gaster _tsk_ ed. "In that vein, have any monsters besides yourself become more violent than usual?"

"Not...really. Undyne's more psycho than ever, but I think that's just her."

"Is the situation such that anyone has contemplated resorting to cannibalism?"

"Hell no! Don't even joke about that!"

"I am not joking, Sans. Has the Underground seen a marked increase in sexual activity?"

Great, now he was baffled _and_ embarrassed. "Weren't you listening? There's no damn food! Why would anybody want to have kids right now?"

"A valid point, but to your knowledge, have any of the monsters been engaging in indiscriminate, non-procreative sexual activities?"

"Wha—why the fuck would I know that?!"

That earned him another smack on the head, though not very hard. "Language." Scriscritch. "Now, please be honest. Have you ever contemplated keeping a human as a pet? If so, do you believe you would treat her well, or would you—"

"That does it!" Sans lurched to his feet, eyes and face blazing. "I dunno what kinda sick fantasies ya got goin', buddy, but I'm not gonna play along!"

The royal sorcerer held up his hands, and the extras holding the pen and notepad vanished. "Let's move on, then. Tell me whether this is correct: the second fortune explained the consequences of Her Eminence either opening or disposing of a box. One result is a very dull and safe future, while the other would be shorter and more painful, but ultimately much more fulfilling. Yes?"

Sans sat back down, poking at a scuff mark on the carpet. "Yeah, that's pretty much it."

"Unsurprisingly, many people are fixated on the latter possibility, because it would result in the High Priestess – if it is her, of course, which no one will say for certain, though they're certainly saying it – having a child by this time next year." One side of Gaster's mouth lifted. "It is a very popular misconception that human gestation lasts nine months, but in reality, medical experts consider a full-term pregnancy to be roughly forty weeks, or ten months. I will not contribute any sordid conjectures to the narrative, but if this aspect of her fortune is accurate, the necessary timing of certain events is self-evident."

"If?" Sans sat forward eagerly. "Ya mean it might not happen? No boring husband sometime soonish, no havin' a kid right away?"

Gaster stared at him for a little too long. "Where do you see yourself in this, Sans? Where would you like to be?"

Sans blinked. "Wha?"

"You escorted her to the festival, and mutual convenience led you to present yourselves as a couple, but you are not her husband. You are her apprentice and personal guard for the next twenty or so days, after which she will return to the usual course of her duties, and you will return to the Underground to report to King Asgore that the humans are interested in reopening diplomatic relations."

"Actually," Sans said, trying not to sound smug, "once my time's up, she's probably gonna come back Underground with me. She's got this big plan ta have monsters work with humans instead of bein' slaves, and it's too much fer me t'decide on, so—"

"So you would risk her life by bringing her directly to Asgore?" The doctor stood slowly, and the room seemed to grow darker as he glared down at Sans. "You _idiot!_ Do you have any idea what will happen if the High Priestess is delivered to your King as he is now?"

"You mean, if he doesn't like her idea? Then I'll...uh..."

"You'll what?" Gaster's voice dripped with such scorn that Sans couldn't muster a response. "King Asgore is not interested in making peace! He would only meet with her in order to take her SOUL!"

The boss monster's mouth opened and closed. "But...if I didn't—"

"Asgore's sole aim is to become powerful enough to take vengeance on humanity. The King knows very well that only women with strong inborn magic may become High Priestess, and the moment he saw Frisk's SOUL for himself, he would be willing to fight her, you, and perhaps even Toriel to acquire it. Do you understand?"

Sans had never felt so small and stupid. Why hadn't it occurred to him that Asgore would notice how powerful Frisk was without being told? All he had thought of was the excuse to take her with him, not even bothering to remember how _he_ had immediately noticed her SOUL and tried to kill her for it. He was smarter than this!

There was no time to beat himself up. He had to think. Her first fortune had said her efforts wouldn't bear fruit, and Gaster had mentioned Asgore "as he is now"; for the second future to come to pass, with Frisk changing the world and achieving her goal, the King would have to be more like his old, sweet-natured self, who would never have killed someone without at least hearing her out. "Whaddya think is in the box?" Sans asked abruptly.

Gaster frowned. "That's an excellent question. I couldn't even venture a guess without seeing the box myself, but I doubt Her Eminence would be willing to show me. After what you said last night, I don't think she would be receptive to you asking, either."

Sans let himself fall onto his back, staring at the wallpapered ceiling. Who the hell put wallpaper on the ceiling? "Nope. She'd kick my ass from here to the Underground and back."

"Crude, but accurate." Gaster sighed, twiddling his thumbs in elaborate swirls. "How very frustrating. We have so much information, but the most crucial component may be forever beyond our gr—"

The door banged open. "Excuse me," Frisk said to Sans, who got up and watched her shove the couch aside.

Gaster quickly resumed his disguise; luckily, the priestess was so fixated on the couch that she hadn't noticed him. "May we help you, my lady?" asked Dr. Serif.

"No." The young woman yanked at a floorboard, and both monsters watched in astonishment as she pulled it up to reveal a makeshift safe. She removed the barrier and rummaged through the safe, extracting a thickly folded paper. "Here we are." Frisk scowled as she tried to remove the packet: the safe was so small that the paper was stuck lengthwise against something. The priestess dug downward and shoved the offending object up and onto the floor. "Here is the deed to my house in Riverview, and here's the key. You and Snowdrake will be able to stop there on your way, and no one will...Sans? Hello?"

The men weren't listening to her. They were looking at what had tumbled out of the safe: a rosewood box.

Frisk slapped at it, sending it tumbling back into the safe, which she resealed and covered with the floorboard and couch in rapid succession. "Don't even think about it," she said to them, dangerously calm, and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

The royal sorcerer scratched his cheek. "Memories."

"Hm?" Sans glanced at him. "What about 'em?"

"That type of wood is useful for preserving magical objects, but that shape and size are not common. Given the context of her second fortune and the emotional pain therein, it must contain at least one memory." Dr. Serif drummed his fingers on the desk. "How curious. Memory excision has historically been so abused that it was outlawed by King Stephin's great-grandfather. Nowadays, the procedure can only be authorized on a case-by-case basis by a Church official higher than an archdeacon, or the very highest ranks of the nobility or royalty."

Sans suddenly remembered a night not long after he'd arrived where Frisk had mentioned her father, and how loyal her mother had been to the duke she worked for. Just for grins, he'd looked up the hierarchy of nobility in one of Frisk's books, and a duke was the next best thing to being a royal. It all fit, except for the fact that _what the hell was in the box_? How did you keep memories sitting around like that? Why would you need to carve something like that out of someone's head, and how would getting it back make the difference between a future of "stupid perfect husband she didn't even like" and "monsters going free" plus "having sex sometime soon"?

One more thing came to mind, and before he could stop himself, Sans said, "Hey, Gaster. Doctor. Whatever you are right now. You say you're from another Underground or something?"

The doctor narrowed his eyes at him again. Even with a human face, it gave Sans the creeps. "Why do you ask?"

Sans almost said "Never mind," but the air still faintly smelled of Frisk – he'd have to ask her what it was, exactly – and he wouldn't get a chance to ask anyone else who might know, so, fuck it. "D'ya know if it's possible for a monster and a human to have a kid together? Biologically?"

The royal scientist raised his eyebrows. "Well," he said after a painfully long moment. "It is quite rare, but I am aware of several instances where a human woman married and had at least one child with a monster." He coughed. "With a skeleton."

But before Sans could even start feeling things about that, much less sort through them, the doctor half-smiled. "None of them, however, involved a boss monster." He stood, and walked to the door. "I'm sorry." He slipped out, leaving Sans to stare up at the wallpaper ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is titled "Answers," I promise


	10. Answers -- Sans

When Sans had composed himself enough to leave the wallpaper behind, he found Dr. Serif double-checking the paperwork while Frisk rustled around in her dressing room. As soon as she emerged in her black dress, the doctor said, "I have a request, Sans. When you escort Snowdrake home, I'd like you to stay in human form. Two monsters going anywhere without an owner will attract too much attention, especially near the border, and we should see whether your disguise can fool another monster. Do you think you can masquerade as a human who is using Sans' magic?"

Sans didn't like the idea – in fact, he completely hated it – but he was in the mood to think before he spoke, and the more he did, the more it made sense. "Yeah, I guess. If I told 'im who I was, he'd probably think I'd been brainwashed or somethin'. Everyone would be weird about it when I got home."

"Exactly." The royal sorcerer rolled the papers back up and placed the scroll on the edge of the table. "Does Sans need to bring the deed to the house with him in case he's questioned, my lady?"

"No, I've written a note and put my seal on it. Here's a map with the house marked, and I also have an insignia he can carry." The priestess went to a little nook by the fireplace, glanced at herself in the mirror, and opened a drawer full of odds and ends. "Where is...ah." Frisk pulled out a leather armband. "This will identify you as the High Priestess' personal agent. I don't use it often, but anyone you speak to should recognize it."

Sans had retrieved his silver chain from the bedroom. He looped it around his neck, put the smaller items in his overcoat, and accepted the armband, admiring the patterns of tiny white and red crystals worked into the leather. "Spiffy. So, if anyone asks me who I am an' where I'm takin' Snowdrake, I can tell 'em to shove it?"

"You will not tell anyone to shove it." He winced at her tone—yep, she was still mad at him. "Furthermore, please remember your fortune. No matter what happens, unless it is absolutely the only way to keep yourself and Snowdrake safe, I don't want you to kill anyone." She swept an errant lock of hair behind her ear, voice softening. "Please, Sans."

The boss monster's SOUL fluttered. He looked down at the armband, which was more of a wristband at his human size. "Fine," he said, trying to sound careless. "I'll talk first, only kill 'em if they really, really bug me."

"Sans!" He'd forgotten that Frisk had the lungs to roar like a miniature hurricane. "Do you care about anything but yourself and what _you_ want to do? If you kill anyone and you cannot come back here and look me in the eye to tell me why it was necessary, I don't want you to come back at _all!_ Do you understand?!"

Sans was speechless. As her echoes bounced off the corners of the room, he not only couldn't think of what to say, it felt like the magic comprising his vocal cords had evaporated.

Into the silence fell the sound of someone rapping on the double doors. Frisk whipped on her veil and headdress, allowing the bemused Dr. Serif to get up and admit two armed guards.

Between the men drooped a birdlike, half-grown monster roughly four feet tall, ice forming on the chains around its neck and feet. Without preamble, the priestess snapped her fingers at the guards and said, "Remove his bonds. Now."

The shorter guard coughed as Snowdrake shrank further back. "He is secured with the commonest type of lock. Your Ladyship will doubtless possess the key already," the guard mumbled.

Though her features were obscured by the veil, the High Priestess' body language was so expressive of absolute wrath that the men swallowed and gripped their weapons tighter. Without turning her head, she said to Sans in measured, glacial tones, "Get rid of those chains."

"As milady wishes," Sans said cheerfully, raising his left hand. The guards didn't notice the red mist surrounding the collar or shackles, but they did see the metal burst into fragments; the men nearly wet themselves as the rest of the chains fell off the startled drake.

"Leave us," ordered Frisk, and they were happy to obey, one pausing to grab the scroll and the other nearly running out the doors ahead of him.

Snowdrake's beak fluttered open, but he shut it and cringed as Frisk reached for his neck. "That's Sans' magic," whispered the young monster. "How'd you get him?"

Frisk placed her hand on his head, feeling him tremble. "He's unharmed, and he's given us his magic in order to help return you to the Underground." She brushed the last few links off his feathery neck, trying to avoid the half-healed scabs where the collar had rubbed him raw. "I am not your new owner, Snowdrake. You're going to be free."

The ice monster's eyes darted between her and the two men. "Yes, my lady," he said woodenly.

The poor kid. Sans knew exactly what it was like to be at a human witch's mercy and having to hear that kind of crap. Only the knowledge that she wasn't lying and Snowdrake would be home soon kept Sans from dropping the disguise right then and there.

"My guard will escort you as close as he can to the entrance to the Underground," Frisk told Snowdrake, then looked at Sans. "You shouldn't have trouble, but if you run into poachers, I'm giving you full authority to protect yourselves through _non-lethal_ means. Is that understood?"

Sans nodded. To his surprise, Dr. Serif cleared his throat. "I think you had better take this as well. Consider it repayment." He produced yet another brooch from his robe, this one large and faintly pink. Sans wondered irritably how many of them he still had. "If you use this to supplement the magic you already possess, you can make the journey in a few easy stages. Pace yourself, and do not hurry back." He sat down as Sans put the brooch away. "Several people in the plot against Her Eminence have already been detained. We will maintain a watch in case anyone else involved decides to strike before they're discovered, and I will personally check on her throughout the day."

"Indeed," said Frisk. _"Please_ take your time."

Holy shit, that hurt. The boss monster plunged his hands into his pockets to avoid breaking anything. "Breakfast should be here in a moment," the priestess went on, "and as soon as you've—" Right on cue, there was another knock at the door. "—both eaten, we'll pack something for you to take with you."

Sans tried to catch her eye, but she went back to the office as the servant unloaded the trolley. Snowdrake made no move to eat until Sans put a plate down and told him, "Go for it," at which the ice monster almost literally dove in. There was no telling the last time he'd had enough food, so Sans didn't ask, letting Snowdrake devour nearly everything and gulp down all the milk.

Fortunately, there was a bundle of apples and sandwiches sitting on the bottom of the trolley, along with three flasks of water and one of cider. "I ordered extra provisions. You'll need to keep your strength up," said Dr. Serif, waving away Sans' muttered thanks. He checked that Snowdrake was done, then called, "They're leaving, my lady."

Frisk reemerged, still veiled. "The best of luck to you both," she said.

Sans picked up the bundle, tucking it under his arm. "Sure, boss. See you when I get back." He jerked his head at Snowdrake, who was peering up at him, eyes half closed. "C'mon." Sans shouldered the doors open for the smaller monster to trudge through; a second later, the guard outside made a squeaky sound that indicated Sans had teleported them away.

The priestess sank into a chair, shoulders slumping as she pulled off her headdress. Dr. Serif cleared his throat. "You look as though you need more rest, Your Eminence. Unless, of course, you'd like to talk about your—"

"No. Thank you," she said, loud and sharp. Frisk picked up a fresh stack of letters, sorting them into different piles according to the wax seals or lack thereof. "I have a great deal of correspondence to catch up on, and I'll be very dull company for the next several hours. I'm sure you also have a great deal of work to do—have you started drafting your proposed specifications for the first set of solar arrays?"

"Yes, my lady. In fact, I've scheduled a meeting later this morning with several of my colleagues to discuss the matter. I'll be back this afternoon, but if you need anything at all in the meantime..."

"Thank you," she said again, a little more calmly. "I also must thank you for your help earlier with Sans. Did you figure out why he was acting so strange? I can't believe he grabbed me like that! I don't know what he could have been thinking."

The doctor made a wry face at her back. "I'm not sure how it happened, my lady. I don't believe he intended to become inebriated, but that is certainly what he was." He paused. "I will also keep you apprised of developments in Fernand's interrogation. Your Eminence will be glad to know that Lord Owen has been cleared of suspicion, more than adequately."

Frisk looked daggers at him. "Has he?"

"Indeed," he said gravely. "The moment his friend was arrested, Lord Owen volunteered to answer questions under hypnosis. He was tested beforehand for any magic with which he might have resisted or subverted the procedure, which ensured his answers were completely truthful. He is guiltless, and can offer no further information."

She nodded, returning to the next stack of letters. Why did she feel just the tiniest bit disappointed?

It was no use pretending. In her too-honest, very tired mind, she knew exactly why: it would've been the ideal excuse to reject him and find another suitor for her "adequate" future. It wasn't at all nice, but facts were facts. No matter how much she wanted to be married, having Luke as a husband would be like sleeping with her brother!

So, that just left...who?

The doctor coughed theatrically. "Before I go, my lady..."

Something made Frisk look up at him. Dr. Serif gave her a brief smile, and said with unusual delicacy, "With no intrusion intended or opinion attached, I beg that you inform me if and when you wish to safely dispose of your box. Whatever may be inside it, I assume there is magic involved, and throwing it away without the proper precautions may have consequences."

Frisk picked up an envelope and hissed between her teeth as she felt the paper slice her thumb. "I understand, Doctor. Good day to you."

He half-smiled. "And to you, my lady." When she looked up a moment later, he was already gone.

~

If Frisk had ever had a more miserable day as High Priestess, she didn't want to remember when. She hadn't just been trying to get rid of the royal sorcerer; she really did have a pile of mail to get through. The only attention she paid to the proposals was to make a stack of rejects, maybes, and actual prospects. Then she threw the maybes into the reject pile. Then she had to literally grab her own wrist to keep from dumping the entire basket into the fireplace—if she was destined to either marry Lord Owen or hop right into bed with someone unmarriageable, why bother wading through any of these?

A small, flat package at the bottom of the stack puzzled her until she opened it and several bookmarks fell out. Right: she'd ordered them when Sans got after her one time too many for her uncouth reading habits. She could fold all the pages she wanted today, Frisk tried to tell herself, but it just made her wish he was here to tell her to _leaf_ them alone or _mark_ his words. When she got another paper cut, she started to ask him to heal it for her, only to realize she was speaking to an empty room. She had to make do by washing her hands and applying tiny bits of ointment that came right off when she picked up more envelopes.

Just before lunch, Frisk told herself she'd earned a break and went in to flop on the enormous bed. Would Sans be back tonight? If he wasn't back by evening, should she go ahead and sleep in here, knowing he could come back inexplicably drunk and try to cuddle her again?

...She couldn't shake the idea. Technically, she should be scared at the idea of a ten-foot monster with no inhibitions invading her space when she was most vulnerable, but...she wasn't. Not remotely. In fact, her imagination was running with it so fast that she couldn't catch up, much less stop it. Frisk actually had to remind herself that Sans was a skeleton, only for her self to remind _her_ that there were approximately two hundred creative ways around that particular deficit. Ah, well. It was all stupid, harmless tired-brain fantasy about someone she was comfortable with, not as if she was going to marry him or anything...

This was ridiculous. It had only been a few hours, and she was still furious with him, but she missed Sans so much that she could barely function.

There was another knock, and the priestess scowled as she got up to put on her veil and answer the outside door. To her surprise, it was Luke, holding a tiny velvet jewelry pouch out to her. "Good morning, Your Eminence," he said as she pasted on a smile. "Forgive my intrusion, but I came to return this in person."

Frisk opened the drawstrings and pulled out her pearl bracelet, the one he'd removed so the parrot wouldn't destroy it. "Oh. Thank you," she said automatically. Luke waited for more, and she glanced behind her. "I am sorry, Lord Owen, but you've caught me in the middle of decanting. The fumes will be potentially harmful once the mixture has heated, so..."

"It's quite all right. I didn't intend a long visit," he assured her. "I wanted to ask if you've had a chance to look over the contact information I forwarded to you."

Thank God she had found his note in her mail, or else she wouldn't have remembered the farmland at all. "Yes, I have, thank you," she replied. "I'll send your broker an inquiry with the name of my banker. Shall I inform you when I hear back from her?"

"If it's quite convenient, yes, please." The young lord shuffled his feet, as if he was suddenly uncomfortable about something. "Fr—Your Eminence, may I ask if any of the rumors about the All Souls festival are accurate?"

The guard at her door had been doubled, and she couldn't help noticing how both of them were waiting to hear her answer. "Forgive my bluntness, Lord Owen, but I don't know what you're talking about. I have no time for ridiculous gossip," she almost snapped.

"Yes, of course, of course. I'm the one who must beg forgiveness. I'm sure you would never..." Her stare intensified, and he hastened to say, "The last reason I've trespassed on your time is that I am preparing to visit St. Brigid's. I'll be leaving early tomorrow. May I tell Mathilda that you've been well?"

"Absolutely!" Frisk knew this was where she was supposed to ask how his sister was doing in general, how her studies were going, etc. etc., and pass along all sorts of loving messages. But somehow, with her blood still humming and her potential husband right in front of her, and Sans not there to see, she had just one thought: "Could you give her something from me?"

"Yes, of course," he said pleasantly. "What is it?"

Frisk nodded, stepped forward and gave him a quick, decisive hug, careful to get her arms all the way around him before she stepped back. "Please excuse me," she said, "but I haven't seen Mathilda since Christmas, and I miss her very much. I hope you understand."

"Uh..." Luke blinked hard. "Yes, my lady. I'll see her and give her...that. Thank you very much, and a good day to you." He bowed vigorously and turned on his heel, speed-walking down the hall in flustered elation.

Ignoring the guards' smirks, the High Priestess went back inside and slammed the doors, removing her veil again. She knew she should be embarrassed or at least care what they were going to say about her, but really, half the city was probably placing bets on who she'd be sleeping with in however many days or hours, so what was one brief embrace?

It was nothing. That was what she'd felt, anyway. Part of her was surprised at her own cold-heartedness, but Frisk knew what had happened when she hugged Sans, and she was certain that no matter how long she snuggled up to Luke, it wouldn't feel remotely similar; if he had put his arm around her, it would've just annoyed her. At least she had eliminated any remaining doubt: Luke could offer her pleasant company, and that was all. Not warmth, or real companionship, or gentleness, laughter, intellectual stimulation, literal attraction...

There went her imagination again. The workroom was still cold from however long Sans had had the windows open, but she had to pick up some papers to fan herself. It was quite a relief when lunch arrived and she could eat Sans' portion to make up for missing breakfast, then retire to the bedroom.

Having spent so much of her early life on her own, Frisk had been shocked when she came to St. Brigid's and discovered that even in a convent, the primary occupation of adolescent girls seemed to be talking about boys, or sex, or any combination thereof. She understood now that they had had very little else to talk or think about, and that being in a strict religious environment meant that there were no other outlets for their perfectly normal teenage curiosity, but those first few months had been eye-opening, to say the least.

To their credit, the sisters were aware of this and knew very well that after the lights went out in the dormitory, the girls would stuff their pillows under their covers to create a laughable illusion of being in bed, crawl to the center of the floor, and whisper to each other until they forgot themselves and laughed too loud at something, which was the cue for the proctor on duty to shout "BED" and send them flying back to their cots. It was probably also why everyone had to undergo a comprehensive sexual education course when they turned fourteen, and of course, the girls who could tell penis jokes for literal hours on end felt quite differently about the matter when an eighty-year-old priestess was passing out textbooks with full-color drawings and scientific labels.

In short, Frisk knew exactly what she was feeling and why. She'd never had the nerve to try anything when she was sleeping in an open room with dozens of other girls and young women, but once she moved into these chambers and found she had nearly unlimited privacy, she had finally availed herself of the opportunity to ignore the Church's teachings on self-exploration. Then she had availed herself of the opportunity a _lot_ , figuring that it was harming no one whatsoever, and that she wouldn't have been given those parts if she wasn't meant to use them. But she hadn't done it since Sans arrived, especially not when they were in the same bed.

Sans was not here now, and she wasted no time, pausing only to throw a quilt over herself before she moved her skirt aside and worked her hand into place. She'd never done this in the middle of the day before, but that added a little excitement; what if she was to take down the barrier against teleportation, and he happened to get back right as she was in the middle of it? That would be just _awful._ Would he even recognize what she was doing, or would he just—

Another knock. Another fecking knock on the outside door as she was getting _this close_ , and she wanted to burn down the entire castle. Frisk kicked the quilt off, pulled her clothes back into place, and stomped over to her veil and circlet before she threw the doors open. This had better be worth the interruption!

~

Over an hour later, she came back to her rooms with her cluster of guards and, given the general trajectory of the day thus far, was not surprised to find Dr. Serif waiting next to a stack of crates. "Good afternoon," he said. "It seems as if the items you've ordered for your apprenticeship have arrived. Would you like some assistance putting them away?"

Frisk looked at them, and at him, but she could barely speak. "I am overtired, Doctor," she mumbled. "I would appreciate your help, and then I need to rest."

"Of course." The royal scientist opened the double doors and directed the guards to bring the boxes inside while she went to the bathroom to remove her veil and compose herself for a few minutes. It didn't work, but it was long enough for the guards to put everything away and leave, so she only had to worry about the doctor when she emerged.

One look at her was enough. He didn't ask if she was all right, just moved aside a respectful distance as she sat down to check the inventory sheet. "Would you like to talk about it?" he asked kindly.

"No, thank you," she said, voice cracking.

"I understand." The doctor removed the lid from a long box of seedlings and began filling a vial at the sink. "They've found the guard responsible for leaving your door unattended and allowing the assassin into your room. It seems he is affiliated with a local group pushing to decriminalize the retrieval of monsters from the no-man's-land. It should be a valuable link in uncovering more conspirators."

"Excellent. I'm glad to hear it," Frisk said politely, mind still buzzing.

Dr. Serif tipped some water into each seed-bed. "If he avoids detours or anything else he is not supposed to do, Sans should be back late this evening. Don't be alarmed if he takes longer, though. I could easily see him deciding to rush back and overextending himself. He can sleep at your house tonight if need be."

The only sound was water running into the vial and being trickled onto the tiny plants. The doctor glanced at her over his shoulder. "If I may, High Priestess. Please don't go there to wait for him or try to meet him. He should—"

 _"Get_ _out!"_

When the doctor had obediently made himself scarce, Frisk threw her veil on the floor, stormed into the bedroom, and flung herself on the bed for a good, long cry, or at least a long one. It wasn't Dr. Serif's fault that he'd happened to visit right as she was returning from a talk with her father. She hadn't been so angry or humiliated in a long time—of all the people to drag her away from her private time to lecture her about maintaining a good reputation and not sleeping around, why the hell did _he_ think he had the right to do it, especially based on a single stupid rumor? It'd been all she could do not to scream at him that he'd spent his youth screwing his way through most of the kingdom, left her to be neglected almost to death for ten years, and only taken an interest in any of his damn-near-orphans when his second wife died in childbirth and the midwives told him the baby might not survive! How _dare_ he?!

The final nail in the coffin came a few hours later, when she'd finally pulled herself together enough to start writing replies to everything that needed replying to. After many more paper cuts, Frisk was almost done when she heard a knock that she hoped, for the other person's sake, was her dinner.

It was, but it was also another messenger. At least this one wasn't there to take her anywhere, merely to tell her that His Holiness had furnished the records she requested, handing over a folder roughly two inches thick.

Frisk probably should have been glad she could peruse the list of enslaved monsters without Sans hovering over her shoulder, and she was; it was just hard to be happy about much of anything when she was reading all the names and descriptions—she'd felt strongly enough about it when she wasn't remembering how completely beaten Snowdrake had looked, and wondering how many other monsters must be in similar or worse circumstances at that very moment. Her duty now was to go through the list of owners and judge which were probably the absolute worst, and organize inspections as quickly and stealthily as possible.

It all went back to her stupid fortunes. She'd half-purposely led Luke on, and her father had made it very clear that _he_ expected her to make the respectable choice, the hypocritical old goat. The problem was that it was what everyone would expect of her; in the wee hours of the morning, it had felt daring and romantic to contemplate a future where she had a child with a not-husband, but the reality was that it would probably ruin her life, just like her mother's. Frisk was more confused than ever: how could she change the world and free monsters if she did something so socially unacceptable that no one would probably ever speak to her again? But she'd also have new parents and a huge family...how?!

Even if Sans had been a complete idiot at the fortune-teller's table, she wished more than ever that he was here to talk to. Damn Dr. Serif for reading her thoughts so easily. There was still the brooch he'd given her a couple nights ago, but she wanted to save it for a real emergency; besides, it wasn't as if she could do much to help Sans if he simply needed to rest before coming back to the castle...assuming he was coming back.

Frisk shook herself. There was no reason to believe that at all! She had to think more constructively. Wasn't there some way to communicate w—ah, yes, he was able to speak to Papyrus in dreams. She had joined him fairly easily the time she'd tried it. If she took down that barrier again...

...then the child could get in. But Sans wasn't here. Could it make her hurt him _in_ a dream?

That was when Frisk officially gave up on thinking, or working, or doing anything else for the day. It was already after sunset, so she folded up the registry, instructed the guards not to let anyone disturb her unless something was actively on fire, and went to run a bath. Her mind didn't clear much, but it did help relax her, even if she was still too tense to pick up where she'd left off with herself. She put on her fuzziest nightgown, whisked the barrier away and built up a fire in the bedroom, then made a warm nest of blankets and settled herself to sleep, leaving her mind cautiously open.

~

_She woke a little as the bed creaked beside her. She grumbled under her breath and turned away from him, pulling the covers up._

_Undeterred, he ducked beneath the covers and draped himself over her side. His hard, smooth fingers caught on her hair as he pushed it out of the way to nuzzle her neck. It was a good start, but he must have been tipsy: she yelped as his nasal bone jabbed her. "sorry," he murmured._

_That should've been that; she graciously permitted him to stroke her hair as an apology, and settled back down to sleep._

_She should have known better when he started petting her back and down her side, and then rubbed her leg, knowing_ very _well that she'd sleepily turn toward him so he could pet the other one, too. Then came a soft, warm touch on her neck, his hands sliding under her nightshirt, and her nightshirt creeping up as he eased his weight onto her._

_"Really?" she tried to ask, but his mouth was in the way, and he easily caught the hand she brought up to push him off, spreading his fingers to interlace them with hers._

_He would have stopped if she'd insisted. She didn't. She—_

~

Someone was in her office.

Frisk was not afraid. She was _done._ She got out of bed with an ache in her groin and murderous resolve in her heart, moving silently through the bedroom and the dark workroom. There was no light showing under the office door, but she could feel ripples through the barrier over her safe as someone dug into the floor around it. With no restraint or remorse, she yanked open the doors and slammed a multi-layered barrier into the room, catching the would-be thief by surprise.

Whoever it was, they were unnaturally strong and agile, nearly catching the edge to squeeze through as it sealed itself off. But it was no use: fueled by angry determination, the barrier snapped shut into a golden sphere, trapping the person inside. The intruder struck at it several times with terrific force, but Frisk held firm until the figure staggered, then fell to its knees, wheezing.

Only then did Frisk click her tongue, dropping the layer that prevented air from getting in, and strengthening the layer that suppressed magic. "Whoever you are, you have ten seconds to explain yourself," she snarled.

A gulping breath. "Please, my lady—"

Frisk was so startled that her concentration wavered. The figure took the opportunity to hit the barrier again, and she promptly cut its air off, waiting several seconds before she allowed any back in. The priestess came forward and peered inside. "...Doctor?"

In the barrier's glow, she could see quite well, and though she knew she had him contained, Frisk felt a twinge of fear. It had sounded exactly like the royal sorcerer, but this was not Dr. Serif. It was a monster, a skeleton with a long, eerie face, much more smooth and hollow-looking than Sans or Papyrus. As it straightened, its arms stayed hidden in the folds of its long, ragged black coat, and several disembodied skeletal hands floated over its shoulders. "The man who speaks in hands," she said to herself. No wonder they were supposed to beware him!

The monster's brow creased. "The man who speaks in hands?" he repeated in Dr. Serif's whispery voice. "How very poetic." Cough. "May I ask where you—"

"You may not!" The barrier constricted, nearly brushing the top of his skull. "Who are you?" she demanded.

The skeleton visibly struggled to answer, and finally croaked, "My name is W.D. Gaster. I am a monster who has been posing as a human in order to maintain my post as the royal sorcerer." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Young lady, what...what is this?"

Frisk sat down on the couch, which had been moved aside to expose the safe. "I assume you mean the fact that you can't lie to me while you're in there. I'm not much good at truth spells, but I figured out how to incorporate one into a barrier, which I am _very_ good at. I just don't use it very often." On some level, she wasn't surprised that Dr. Serif had been hiding something like this, but she was still afraid—had any of his help or kindness been real, or was it all for some unknown, sinister purpose? Would he try to eliminate her now that she knew what he was?

Gaster was staring at her. Above him, both pairs of hands started a slow clap. "I am extremely impressed, Your Eminence. I am also very apprehensive. As a monster, I cannot match your determination, which means you have me at a complete disadvantage. I must commend you."

The priestess was gratified, but knew better than to drop her guard; she could feel him subtly testing the weave and span of the barrier with unseen hands. "Stop that," she snapped, and he did, tilting his head to concede defeat. "Were you trying to steal my box?"

"Of course," he said. "I infer that it contains your memories, and it is now common knowledge that the future of this world hinges on what you do with it."

Frisk controlled another stab of anger, though she couldn't stop the barrier from popping and snapping like a bonfire. "And you thought you would...what? Dispose of it without asking me?"

"I don't know exactly what I was thinking," Gaster confessed. "I succumbed to intellectual curiosity as to what distilled memories look like, and whether I could view them without disturbing the physical medium. What I would do with them would depend on their contents."

The barrier was now eye-wateringly bright. "You broke into my rooms when Sans wasn't here, damaged my property, and woke me up from a _very_ good dream because you thought you knew better than me what I should do with my life?! How _dare_ you! How dare _all_ of you try to decide this for me?"

"You are completely correct, my lady, and I apologize wholeheartedly." The monster placed his hand on his chest and bowed from the waist. "I swear that I will not presume to meddle any further."

It sounded sincere, but the old priestess who'd helped her develop this technique had been very emphatic: if someone promised something while under a truth spell, there was nothing to stop them from breaking it once the spell ended. "Why are you here?" she asked. "What are your intentions?"

He managed a chuckle. "As I truthfully told your apprentice earlier today, that is a large question." The monster's hands folded into pairs. "I do not believe you will derive any benefit from my entire story, and that most of it will unnecessarily disturb you. May I tell you as much as I sincerely believe will benefit you, and omit that which is not necessary?"

Frisk bit her lip. "I'd prefer to be the judge of that. Answer me, please: what are your intentions towards me, and Sans, and this kingdom in general?"

Gaster didn't reply. Frisk felt him trying to use some kind of magic similar to Sans' to slip out of the barrier, and she gave one sharp whistle; the skeleton's hand went to his throat as his magic dissolved and the air started to thin again. "Please, stop!" he rasped.

The priestess did so, feeling a tiny bit guilty. That rush of anger was starting to fade, but she knew she couldn't let him manipulate her into letting him go before she was ready. The fact that he _had_ been manipulating her up till now was more than enough to steady her resolve. She crossed her arms and stared him down in silence.

A hand came up to massage Gaster's temple. "All right. I...do not intend to harm anyone. I came here solely as an observer, and have only remained for this length of time in order to rectify my errors." He sighed. "As is so often the case, every attempt I make only compounds the problem, and yet I cannot seem to stop."

Frisk shook her head. "I don't want vagueness or lies by omission, Dr. Gaster. Where did you come from, and on whose behalf are you observing us?"

"I came from a place similar to this one. I lived inside Mt. Ebott, which contained the Underground, home to monsters such as Sans, Papyrus, King Asgore, Queen Toriel...to my knowledge, every living monster I knew currently resides here as well."

The priestess' mouth fell open. "How...?"

He made an impatient sound. "As I said, the majority of this information is not necessary to impart. You can do nothing with the knowledge of another Underground, except for the one or two details that are relevant to you and Sans, which I will tell you if you agree to trust me that you do not need the rest. Do we have a deal?"

She exhaled. "Fine. What are you doing here now? Are you gathering information to bring back to your Underground?"

"I dearly wish that this was the case, young lady, but no. I was expelled from my home in an accident, and I no longer exist there. I have been wandering ever since, looking for another place I might settle into." Another sigh. "I know now that it was not only a vain hope, but a dangerous one."

"Dangerous? How so?"

He grimaced. "I found out the hard way, of course. I thought I was doing the right thing when I transplanted a certain monster from a dangerous environment to a safer one where he was needed. I did not know that the danger would follow."

Frisk's skin prickled. "What do you mean? Please start making more sense."

"Very well. To start at the beginning, I must tell you I am not the first W.D. Gaster to have lived in this kingdom or its Underground. Many, many years ago, when I happened upon this place, I went looking for the first item on my checklist: myself. Unfortunately, when I found him, I discovered that your Gaster was easily one of the cruelest I have seen. He conducted horrific experiments on defenseless subjects, both humans and monsters, and he created new life purely to torment it."

The chill increased as Gaster's face darkened. "I was skilled enough to observe him unseen, and his actions disgusted me. I should have left, but when I saw him murder one of his 'sons,' I grew so angry that I could not stop myself. I killed this world's Gaster, and I tried to save his other creation, but it was too late. I broke my policy of noninterference without any real benefit to anyone." He sat down inside the barrier. "Imagine my surprise when I checked the rest of the laboratory and discovered one copy of the younger skeleton ready to awaken, hardly more than a baby. There was no sign that any other creations had survived. I now had a decision to make."

"The 'younger' skeleton? You don't mean—"

"Yes. He created Sans and Papyrus, and he killed them, knowing he could replace them at any time."

The priestess had to fight the urge to be sick all over the office floor. "Couldn't you have taken his place and tried to undo the damage he caused?"

"That was a definite option, and I was tempted. But this is not my home, and I did not want to stay for much longer. I believe I made the correct choice in that respect."

Now she understood why he hadn't wanted to tell her this. Too late; she had to hear the rest of the story.

"It was quite the dilemma. I could not leave Papyrus on his own, nor could I stay here to raise him, or take him with me. He was too young, and I did not know what might happen if I brought him into another place with another Papyrus. But there was no Sans here to care for him. So..." He closed his eyes, pulling the slashes taut. "I made another well-intentioned mistake."

There was a very long pause. "There are certain variations of time and place that I have seen more frequently than others," he said slowly. "The most tragic is where a very sorrowful and angry SOUL becomes warped into a force of absolute destruction, essentially a demon, and it finds a vessel to connect it to the physical world." His eyes opened. "It kills everything, Frisk. Every monster in the Underground, every human above, until there is nothing left. But the force itself does not die. It finds another place to destroy. And another. And another. The child you have seen in your nightmares is here because it cannot bear the fact that in one place, at one time, there was one monster it failed to exterminate. It has come here looking for him."

All the hairs on Frisk's body were standing straight up. "What exactly happened?"

"I found a place where a Sans stood ready to meet the child on its way to murder Asgore and leave the Underground. He had made a promise not to harm any fallen humans, and that promise bound him until it was too late. As always, he was still going to fight it, knowing that it was futile." Gaster looked at his hands, studying the holes in the palms. "I did not speak to him, or even let him see me. I approached him from behind, rendered him unconscious, and transported him here. I had checked Snowdin and saw that the house in which they usually reside was empty, so I brought them both there, left a supply of food and money, and allowed them to live as usual."

"...But...but doesn't he—"

"This world's practice of memory excision is not a good one, in my opinion, but it gave me the idea to try to...adjust him. I did not remove his memories to save for later if he chose to revisit them: I destroyed them entirely. As far as he or anyone else knows, he has always lived here with his little brother." Gaster looked back up at her. "I wanted to give him a second chance in a place where the demon did not exist, and where circumstances were not likely to replicate its creation. I knew that he might have nightmares as echoes of his past experiences, or even glimpses of other lives, but I had no conception that the child itself would stalk him all the way here."

The barrier wavered. Gaster did not move as Frisk shook herself and hummed it back to full strength. She'd have to process all of this information properly later. For now, next question... "Why did you become the royal sorcerer? Didn't you want to leave as soon as you knew they'd be safe?"

"I did, but I came back periodically to check on them. All seemed well until one visit where I discovered that a group of humans had just visited on a diplomatic mission that ended in violent catastrophe. Imagine my surprise when I examined Dr. Alphys' records and discovered that the Sans I rescued had become a boss monster through imperfectly understood means. It was one of the most anomalous variations in his growth that I have ever observed, and it absolutely fascinated me."

His tone was a little too rapturous for her tastes. "You disguised yourself as a human and became the royal sorcerer to keep a closer eye on Sans?" she asked warily.

"Oh, no, my dear young lady. I did so in order to keep a closer eye on you." Frisk started as the skeleton slowly got to his feet. "In order to affect physical matter, even something as tenuous as a monster's body, the demon must find a host. In the course of observing Sans and his brother, I became convinced that the child was trying to reach him, but it could not attach itself to any of the monsters. Through various means, I eventually tracked it to you, just as you were being considered as a replacement for the murdered High Priestess. Not only did I feel the need to protect Sans from a danger he no longer recalled, I became curious about you."

"In what way?" Frisk couldn't help rubbing her eyes. "Why did it choose me?"

Gaster smiled thinly. "At the risk of threatening you or, even worse, stating the obvious," he said in a different tone, "I would guess that a barrier of this strength and complexity requires a great deal of power, and you are not going to be able to maintain it much longer. I will only be at your mercy for another few minutes at most, after which I could make a serious attempt to break out and potentially injure one or both of us." He took a step forward. "I propose instead that I tell you more about Sans while you still know I am being truthful, and then you release me."

He was right. "If I release you, will you attack me or take any other malicious action against me, now or in the future?" Frisk asked carefully.

"I do not intend you or Sans any type of harm whatsoever, Frisk, now or in the future. I bear you no malice, though I admittedly find being caught in this fashion _very_ irksome."

Frisk would have to be content with that. "Done. What do you want to tell me?"

"That you did not give Sans the opportunity to apologize for his conduct at the festival or the morning after, and you said something fairly cruel before he left. I thought I made it clear that he is not stable and you must be careful how you handle him."

It took a second to recall how she'd told Sans to take his time, and his expression after she did. "I'm not his mother," she argued. "I'm sorry I hurt his feelings, and I'll apologize when he gets back, but even you said I shouldn't be held responsible for his behavior. He's been fairly good at keeping his temper, all things considered."

"He's been good at keeping his temper around _you,_ " Gaster said severely. "Did you know that monsters can see the condition of a living monster or human SOUL? I have been monitoring Sans for a long time, as you now know, and soon after he became a boss monster, his SOUL began to darken at a remarkable rate. It was natural for him to accrue EXP as he fought humans to protect his kin, but it is extremely unusual for a single monster to develop such a taste for violence when the rest of the Underground remains unaffected."

Frisk didn't know what EXP was, but she could guess, and time was running short. "What are you saying, Doctor?" she snapped.

"I am saying that I do not know exactly why he is the way he is, and I don't only mean his metamorphosis into a boss monster. No matter what kind of magic he was subjected to, and however his LV grows, it cannot explain why Sans is so very _angry_. It's so ingrained that it feels deliberate, which I don't understand. Is it vestigial regret from his first life? A heretofore unknown side effect of the accident that spurred his transformation? All I know is that when he was listening to your song yesterday morning, I saw him let go of his accumulated rage for the very first time. When I took another look, it seemed as though several layers of that filth have been sloughed off his SOUL since he came here, though far more remains."

The priestess flushed. It was flattering to think she could affect him that much, but...

Gaster must have seen her skepticism. He sighed so mightily that his entire body settled to the floor, as if he simply couldn't keep himself upright. "You can't seriously—you can." He drew himself back up to his full height. "You may still be hurt by having been previously abandoned by those you cared for, young lady, but what do you need to hear before you understand the current situation? That Sans is deeply in love with you? That he behaved so stupidly at the fortune-teller because he was beside himself with jealousy? That any apprehensions you may have about him deciding not to come back here are laughable at best, and you are the only one who can make him _want_ to return to a happier state of mind and avert the possibility of him hurting innocent people?"

Frisk had specifically been taught not to do what she did next: spring to her feet and bring her fist straight down on the barrier, shattering it like paper-thin glass. "However you got in here without alerting the guards, or waking them," she added darkly, "please see yourself out the same way. Good night, Dr. Gaster!"

In the sudden blackness, his eyes showed as two tiny pinpricks, one yellow and one blue. Frisk made herself meet his terrible gaze and point at the door, and he chuckled appreciatively. "Good night, High Priestess," he murmured. There was a rush of shadow, then an empty room.

The priestess could barely move or think. She felt her knees bend and her hand grope around the space where Gaster had been tunneling into the safe. She removed the barrier, picked up the box, put the barrier back up, got to her feet. Back to the bedroom, another barrier up on the door, and a collapse into bed, pulling the blankets around her. Too tired and too troubled to remember where she had left off...what would she see the next time she dreamed?

More importantly, where was Sans?

~

She was walking over an expanse of sand and scrubby trees that she had never seen before but somehow knew was the no-man's-land, closer to the Underground than to human territory. Her head turned at the sound of men screaming, far off to her left. In the fading light, she saw flickers of magic, a bigger flash, and a sound more awful than screams: silence.

Not total silence. As she approached, Frisk heard a familiar chuckle, but not in a familiar way. This was not a skeleton pleased with his own stupid puns or laughing at her rage when he beat her at chess five times in a row. This was someone standing amidst a pile of broken human corpses, surveying his handiwork and enjoying it.

For a terrified moment, Frisk thought Sans was doing this in the present, or had just done it, and she wanted to scream at him—but no, he was wearing the ragged canvas garments she'd first seen him in, not the wool and linen ones she had given him. If this had ever happened – which felt likely – then he was dreaming of a time more distant than the past twenty-four hours.

She was only about fifty yards away, but he didn't seem to notice her. She tried to call out to him, only for her voice to get stuck as she looked again at the human bodies he was stepping over like rocks in his path. Gaster had been right. Sans really was capable of this, wasn't he? He wasn't the gentle, protective, sometimes-somewhat-sweet-natured skeleton she'd grown fond of. He was a killer.

No. He was gentle and sometimes somewhat sweet, and he was a killer. Frisk couldn't fall into the trap of believing that only one side of him existed, or that only one was "real"; people didn't work that way. She had to talk to the one she knew—he was there, too!

Sans was trudging away. Remembering what Gaster had said, Frisk took a big breath and whistled at him over the empty expanse, using a few bars from this morning's song—she'd often seen him stop what he was doing to listen to it.

Sure enough, he paused. He turned, and his orange eyes focused on her. The flames dimmed just a little. "Frisk?" Sans came closer, skirting the pile of bodies. "'sat really you?"

The priestess held out her hands. Sans reached out to touch her fingers, then recoiled—his hand was spattered with blood. "What are you doin' here?" he asked, voice rougher than usual. "Ya don't wanna see this!"

"No, I don't. But I wanted to see you," she said.

Sans blinked at her. He jerked his head for her to follow him, moving until the grim scene was out of her line of sight. Then he sat down, plunging his hands into the sand to scrub the blood off. "Yer an idiot. Why'd you come after me? I thought ya wanted me t'take my time gettin' back."

Frisk winced. She really had hurt his feelings. "I'm so sorry I said that. I missed you today."

The boss monster swallowed hard. "Fine. Ya saw me." He shook sand off his metacarpals, aiming it away from her. "Look, 'm sorry, too. I embarrassed the crap outta ya at the stupid festival, and I..." He shrugged elaborately. "I dunno what the hell I was doin' yesterday mornin', but whatever happened, I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Sans." Frisk folded her hands behind her back. "Did Snowdrake arrive safely?"

"Yeah. I only saw one nosy neighbor lady at the house, an' I played nice 'n let 'er see the note. She left us alone after that. Didn't see anyone else till we got close enough to the Underground t'let 'im go. Poor little bastard kept thinkin' it was some kinda trick." The skeleton brushed more sand off his femur. "I ran inta some poachers on my way back t'the city, but they didn' have any monsters with 'em, an' they just told me to get lost, so I did."

Frisk smiled. "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

Sans made his usual noises, which just made her smile wider. "How was yer first day off from babysittin' me?" he asked crossly. "Good?"

"It sucked," she said, deadpan, and he snorted. "Seriously, Sans, it was awful. Everyone's heard of my fortunes already, and my father, who has had at least fifteen children that we're aware of, gave me a talking-to about my sexual mores."

The skeleton's eyes were fully alight. "Yer kiddin'. Ya haven't even done anythin'!"

There was the tiniest pause, and lest he add "...Right?" and force her to kill him, Frisk said, "Right. It just reminded me that if I open the box and end up having a child on my own, I'll be an unwed mother. Among humans, that makes you a complete outcast. I wish we were more like monsters, I really do."

Sans was very quiet, in a way that put Frisk on edge. "But, of course," she said with forced optimism, "if I don't open it, I'll get married and be completely boring and respectable for another fifty or sixty years, and just have to live with the fact that I chose not to let monsters go free." Her throat was closing up yet again, and she shook her head. "Why do I have to decide this, Sans? I'm used to being under pressure, but not like this! What am I supposed to do?!"

The boss monster edged closer as she sniffled. "Ya know what you should do?" he asked.

"What?!" It came out nearly as a shriek. "What should I do, Sans? Tell me!"

Sans remained sitting, watching her quietly as she scrubbed her face on her sleeve. "I think you should make a decision an' go for it insteada tormentin' yerself like this. Whatever ya wanna do, it'll turn out t'be the right thing. An' fer what it's worth..." He fidgeted, scowling at the ground. "Whether ya pick the bird guy or...someone else, if ya ever need help, I'll do whatever I can. Heavy lifting, beatin' people up, dumb jokes, whatever. So...quit whinin' and pick somethin'. Flip a coin if ya need to. Just stop hurtin' yerself. Okay?"

Frisk's heart stood still. She looked at him in such a way that he sat back warily. "What? What'd I say?"

"Don't say anything," she said, advancing on him. "And don't get up yet."

"Hey, hey, lady, this's a dream, remember? Ya can't touch m—"

Sans lapsed into stunned silence as Frisk's arms went around his neck and her cheek rested on his clavicle. She leaned her full weight on him and heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry to ambush you again," she said into the space between his ribs. "I just needed to see something." It was the same as before, a wonderfully tingly feeling in her chest that spread through her body until she wondered what'd happen if she moved away too fast. Frisk sighed again, trying to work up the willpower to let go. Somehow, he wasn't as uncomfortable as she would've thought, as if there was a very thin layer of something padding his bony exterior. It just made it harder to—

Sans' arms came up to hold her against him, as he had the previous morning, and neither of them cared that they were so big, they overlapped over her back. His cheekbone rested against her head, careful not to be too heavy. "Whaddya do with yer hair?" he muttered.

It was...not what she'd expected him to say. "Can you elaborate, please?" she muttered back.

"I dunno what smells are what. I think the longer I stay human, the more human-ish stuff I can do, like smell, 'n feel stuff I touch." His phalanges moved softly through her hair. "This doesn't make any sense. Yer not s'posed to be able t'interact with anyone in a dream 'less ya went ta sleep in the same room or somethin'."

"I don't know about you, Sans, but I'm sick of thinking." Frisk stared at a spot of drying blood on the ground behind him. "In fact, you're right. I'm done thinking about this." She squeezed him gently, though she knew she could use all her strength and he'd barely feel it. "Let me go, please. It's time for me to get some real sleep."

"...Nuh-uh."

Frisk laughed. "It's vanilla," she said over his shoulder.

"Hm?" Sans was absently petting her hair again. "Wha's vanilla?"

It was so nice that she wanted to fall asleep right there, somehow. When was the last time she'd felt this secure? "It's...my hair. I don't use a lot of expensive lotions, but I'll splurge on anything scented with vanilla. Do you like it?"

"Mm. 'snot as bad as most of the stuff I've smelled so far."

The priestess smiled, then reached up to touch his skull. He tensed as her fingertips encountered the wide, smooth expanse of bone. It was warmer than she'd expected, almost velvety—probably from magic, she figured. "I'm very tired, Sans, and I've used almost all of my magic already. Can you please let me go now?"

He wouldn't. The last shred of doubt in her mind disappeared, and in a surge of determination, Frisk ducked free of his arms, moving out of his reach. "I'll see you soon," she told him. "Tomorrow?"

"Uh." Sans had the oddest look on his face. It reminded her of when she'd cleaned the fork for him at their first face-to-face meeting in the bedroom. "I dunno. I might be drunk again when I wake up. It kinda feels like it."

Frisk gave a long, theatric sigh. "If you are, please sleep it off before you come back. We've gotten in the supplies I ordered, and I don't need you eating the plants or something ridiculous." She stepped back further. "Good night, Sans."

"Night," he said inaudibly, and she left.

~

The guards outside Frisk's doors admitted Dr. Serif after breakfast, then settled in to wait for the royal sorcerer to leave, after which they could properly nap. His morning visits were usually an hour or so, in their experience.

This time, after only five or so minutes, the doors banged open, and one guard dropped his halberd. "I wish to be very clear, Doctor," the High Priestess said, voice pitched to carry down the hall. "Do not open it, do not attempt or allow anyone to attempt to open it, and do not keep it for any reason. I want it destroyed. Will you please do so as soon as possible?"

"Of course, Your Eminence." To the guards' astonishment, the normally imperturbable doctor was frowning, and took the little rosewood box with obvious reluctance. "Good day to you."

The priestess shut the doors without another word. The guards stared at Dr. Serif, who was now scowling full-force at the box. With a glance at the doors and none at all at the two men, the doctor tried to pry the lid open, only to drop it as the box sizzled at him. "How did she put a barrier _inside_ it?" he said to no one.

The guards could barely wait till he was gone to whisper to each other, "She threw it away! I knew she wouldn't—" "Oh, bull _shit_ , you said she'd get knocked up by this time next w—" "No I didn't! I—"

 _Slam_ went the doors. Frisk glared at one, then the other, and waited the count of five before she slowly pulled them shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: answers for Frisk. Been waiting to write it since the beginning~~~


	11. Answers -- Frisk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up.

_The child lay face down in the flower bed, too stunned to cry. When she lifted her head, the world spun in circles; when she tried to get up, her leg hurt so much that she gasped. She sniffled, hiccuped, and waited for someone to come help her. But nobody came. It was too much: she finally gave a long wail, working herself up to sob so hard that tears and snot started dripping all over the golden petals._

_Something was coming down the stone passage. She stopped and huddled into the flowers, but they weren't tall enough to hide in, and a patch of sunlight shining from above lit her up clearly._

_He walked out of the darkness with a sword in each hand. His eyes glittered; when they met hers, she froze, too scared to breathe._

_The...man? It must have been a monster, because it looked like a person, if a person could also be a goat: white fur, horns, and golden eyes, with a muzzle and a pointy black stripe on each cheek. But it walked on two feet and wore a long black robe with a symbol on it...like a person._

_To her surprise, the monster didn't eat her, or breathe fire, or chop her up. He watched her for a moment. With a flick of each wrist, the swords vanished. "Hello there," he said in a soft, deep voice, squatting down a few feet away. "Where did you come from? Are you hurt?"_

_She couldn't answer. To her even bigger surprise, the monster sat down with his legs crossed and took hold of his floppy white ears, one in each hand. He flopped them over his eyes and looked around, as if surprised. "Oh, no! I thought there was a human in here! Who turned out the lights?"_

_Now she was puzzled, and slightly insulted. What was he doing? She wasn't a baby!_

_But as the goat-man kept it up, calling, "Hellooo, huuuuman?" and turning this way and that, her fear ebbed away until she started giggling. He scooched closer and peeked out from under his ear. "Aaah, no, it's the human," he said in very fake terror. "You've caught me. Please, human, if you let me go, I'll take you somewhere safe. I'll even heal you—have you ever been healed before?"_

_The human shook her head, leaning over to wipe her face on some of the bigger flowers. He let go of his ears, moved closer, and extended his white paw—a hand with five fingers, but sharp nails and fur, still a paw. "It's easy. All you have to do is touch the green light. See?" His palm glowed, and the child poked at it, fascinated._

_After a few seconds, her leg didn't hurt anymore. She sat up, and she wasn't dizzy. The goat-man smiled at her, only the very tips of his fangs showing. "All better?"_

_Monsters were supposed to be bad, but he had the kindest eyes she'd ever seen. He held his paw – hand – out again, and she took it, delighted at how soft his fur was. "It's very nice to meet you," he said. "My name is Asriel. What's yours?"_

_She had to think for a second. "My name is—"_

~

Sans jerked awake. Someone was banging on the door. He tried to stand up, but the floor wouldn't stay still: it dumped him right off his feet. "Fu' you, too," he told it. Dammit, his head hurt.

The banging didn't stop. With a more concerted effort, his body got off the floor and carried itself all the way to the front door. He wrenched at the knob and shoved it open.

Dr. Serif moved back exactly in time to avoid a broken nose. "Good morning," he said coolly, and pushed past Sans. "Close the door. Do not break it."

The boss monster tried, he really did, but the knob kept jumping out of the way. With a quietly profane expression, the doctor used a series of hands to shut the door, pull Sans into position, and grab the back of his head. "Holy fucknuts, that's better," the giant skeleton mumbled a moment later. "Thank—ow!"

"You and your foul mouth are welcome." Gaster surveyed the front room. "This is a lovely house. I hope you've treated it well." He sniffed the air several times. "Whatever did you do? What have you had to drink?"

"Water! Mostly. A little cider, no liquor in it." Now that Sans was sober, he was chagrined to follow Gaster to the kitchen and see a huge heap of brownish apple cores on the table. "They were sellin' a bunch on my way back here last night," he mumbled. "I was hungry."

Gaster pointed at the cores, and the wastebin. Sans obediently lifted the pile and dumped it into the bin with a touch of magic. Gaster then pointed at the compost heap outside, and Sans heaved a huge sigh as he picked up the bin to take it out.

The older skeleton gave him an odd look as he came back in. "Do you mean you were on your way back here last night from the Underground?" Gaster inquired.

"Well, yeah. Where else'd I be comin' from?" Sans stuck his head in the sink, opened his mouth, and turned the faucet on.

"Apparently, a place where you can be drunk enough to lose an entire day."

The boss monster coughed violently, turning the water off before he drowned himself. "Where I _what_?"

"You set out with Snowdrake two days ago. The High Priestess expected you back at some point yesterday. It is Sunday, and she had to attend matins, or else she would have come with me to check if you were dead or merely sleeping off your overconsumption of...hmm." A pair of hands took hold of Sans' skull and pulled it down for closer inspection. "You still smell like apples. The priestess also said she smelled it the other morning." Sigh. "At least you spent the missing day here, judging by the age of those apple cores, and not out gallivanting after poachers." Gaster released him. "By any chance, did you stay in human shape for a long time, then eat, and then remove your device before you went to sleep?"

Sans couldn't remember anything. "...Yes? I think?"

"I would call you names, but as I did not figure it out, either, I will call you only one: idiot." The doctor sighed again. "Apples ferment fairly easily. I've never heard of fluctuating magic levels and shifts in internal chemistry rendering them an intoxicant after consumption, and there's no reason for such a weak form of alcohol to affect you this badly, but it's a viable hypothesis. No more cider _or_ apples for you, young skeleton, until we can test the theory in a more controlled setting. Till then, we'll need to check the rest of the house before we can leave in good conscience."

The forensic evidence was not difficult to unravel. Most of the house was fine, but little puddles led from the wet patch in the living room where Sans had fallen asleep all the way into the bathroom, where every single towel was wet, either from being thrown on the wet floor or folded up and placed inside the tub...which was full of water. Without being told, Sans sheepishly set to work unplugging the tub, wringing things out, and draping them over surfaces where they could drip dry. His drunk self must have been experimenting with his human form, taking several baths and...

Oh. Oh, wow. Now he sort of knew what he'd been doing yesterday. It wasn't his fault that he'd gotten so worked up from snuggling Frisk; when he awoke, he'd had the idea to put the chain back on and see if that one thing down there would happen again, and it had. The little he knew of male human physiology and its parallels to monster reproduction had finally coalesced; he'd realized was going on and what he could do about it, and did it. It'd been really fun for a while, but then he...had he had to stop for some reason? Had his hands gotten tired, or was it something else that wasn't working? He couldn't remember.

As for what _had_ been working, damn. He still loathed humans, but this explained a lot.

He had some questions, though. He'd have to peruse Frisk's textbooks when he got back, or ask the doctor, in the event the books failed to cover the finer points of magic boners.

Gaster watched him tidy up in silence. When the bathroom was back in order, he said crisply, "Find your device and come with me. Frisk has been working very hard and sleeping very poorly, and she needs moral support."

That sounded about right. Sans found his silver chain tied to a light fixture in an empty bedroom, put it on, and followed Gaster out of the house, stopping long enough to lock the not-quite-damaged front door.

It was a cold enough morning to see their breath; they passed several children pretending to hold cigars and exhale smoke. "Nice day," Sans complained, huddling deeper into his overcoat. "D'ya mind if I just go somewhere no one can see an' take a shortcut back?"

"She made her decision," said Dr. Serif.

Sans came up alongside him, sure he'd misheard. "She did what?"

"She decided to throw the box away yesterday morning. I disposed of it myself. It's gone."

They walked. It was cold. "Huh," said Sans.

"Indeed."

Five minutes passed. They kept walking. It was still cold.

The doctor looked sidelong at him. "Are you all right?" he asked delicately.

Sans shrugged. "Is _she_ all right?"

Dr. Serif looked this way and that as they stopped at a crosswalk. Several heavily laden wagons were trundling by, drivers and horses alike shivering in the relentless wind. "Not entirely," he said over the noise of wheels crunching on pavement. "She's no longer uncertain of herself, but she has been writing letters nonstop instead of sleeping. Lord Owen has departed to visit his sister for a few days, just in time to miss the news. Did the first fortune have any sort of timetable attached?"

Sans shook his head a little. There was nothing to say, so he didn't bother trying.

One of the wagons was stopped because a horse had decided to take a break in the middle of the street; the driver was climbing down to convince it otherwise. "I'd like you to attend a discussion with my colleagues this afternoon," said Dr. Serif. "Most of them are excited about the possibilities of solar energy conversion, but several are requesting more details before they will support the project."

"Sure," Sans mumbled.

The wagoners behind the recalcitrant horse were getting impatient. If the doctor felt the same way, he didn't show it. "Two weeks," he said, as if to himself. "It's been approximately that long since you were captured, hasn't it? It feels much longer."

No answer. Dr. Serif shifted around until he was facing Sans and took a look at his chest. He grimaced. "Sans, may I just say—"

"Ya think she'll let me come back?"

The doctor blinked. "Beg pardon?"

Under the sounds of the drivers cursing and other pedestrians complaining, Sans said, "Even if she marries that fu—friggin' dork, it's not like she's gonna be locked up fer the rest of 'er life. An' it's not like I'm gonna learn every damn thing she knows in one month. If she can't come to the Underground, I'll just hafta drag my bony ass back here for more lessons. Right?"

"More or less," said the royal sorcerer.

"But..." Sans rubbed his chapped lips, which made them hurt more. "Remember when I talked about killin' someone if they bugged me, and Frisk said I was just doin' what I wanted, 'n not ta come back if I did? What if I run into poachers again and I _have_ to kill 'em?"

"...Because of a life-and-death situation, or because you personally cannot stop yourself?"

"I dunno! Both?"

Dr. Serif discreetly wiped his nose on a handkerchief. "I suspect her definition of 'life-and-death' differs from yours, but I believe she was more concerned with your self-restraint. Let me ask you this: have you ever killed a human purely for enjoyment, or found an excuse to kill one who was not an immediate threat? Even if eliminating someone was fully justified, have you ever deliberately used a slow or painful method to inflict more suffering?"

For the first time since he'd become a boss monster, the thought of slaughtering humans made Sans uncomfortable. "I only ever fight 'em where they're not s'posed ta be," he pointed out. "The only ones ya see out that far are lookin' ta catch monsters. I'm not goin' to their villages or anythin'."

"You're not answering me. I repeat, have you ever—"

"What am I s'posed t'do?! Sit down everyone I see carryin' a buncha chains an' explain that it hurts our feelin's when they're mean to us?"

"I think you'd be better off asking yourself these things instead of trying to argue with me. I also think you know what Frisk would say if you were to ask her directly."

Sans shuffled his feet, wiggling his toes inside his leather boots. The stubborn horse and its wagon had finally started moving down the street. "Here's another question," said the doctor. "Have you ever successfully restrained your temper around the High Priestess?"

The human-ish boss monster glared at him. "Are you kiddin'? Ya think I wanna worry about breakin' 'er like a twig every time I get pissed off?"

"I do not." Dr. Serif employed his handkerchief again. "Have you ever fully lost your temper with her, or in her presence?"

"Well..." He thought guiltily of the time he'd badgered her about singing till she damn near whistled a hole through his skull, and he smiled at how she'd climbed on the table to get in his face afterward. Man, he'd deserved that. Then there was the dent he'd bashed in the tabletop that other time... "I was just bein' a dick. I didn't even think about hurtin' 'er."

"Really? You've made it sound as if it is not possible to restrain yourself in moments of duress. The High Priestess is a remarkable young woman, but she is a human being, just like the ones you—"

"She's _not_ like them, an' I'll break yer fuckin' neck if you say that again."

The people standing near them inched away as Dr. Serif looked at Sans. Sans stared at him, unblinking, until the doctor sighed. "If I have to put literally everything in a Frisk-centric context to get through to you, I will," he said testily. "Do you think she would be pleased to hear you threaten to kill someone for insulting her, which I was not?"

Sans bit the inside of his weird, fleshy cheek. "No," he admitted.

"You will not be with her all day, every day for very much longer. Do you really think she would allow you to return if she had reason to believe you'd killed or needlessly injured anyone in the interim?"

Sans tapped one foot, then the other. "Dunno how she'd even know if I did. S'not like I'd be strollin' up t'her with blood 'n guts all over...my..."

He trailed off as a memory prodded him: that dream recounting his very first encounter with poachers, how he'd crunched the sorcerer's spine and then slammed the other humans into each other until they stopped screaming. He'd enjoyed it immensely till he heard that familiar whistle behind him and realized that Frisk was standing there, seeing him in all his murderous glory.

The moment he heard that sound, before he even turned, he'd instantly gone from elation to abject terror. He thought she would run away from him, or demand some kind of justification he couldn't give, or tell him never to come near her again; she could have accused him of tricking her, pretending to be the kind of person who wouldn't do something like this, much less enjoy it.

She hadn't. She didn't even flinch when she saw the literal blood on his hands. She'd just been herself—said she wanted to see him, apologized for hurting his feelings, and opened up to him about her fears and frustration, as though he hadn't just slaughtered a bunch of people and laughed about it. When was the last time anyone had asked him for help with anything, period? Had anyone _ever_ asked him for touchy-feely advice? In the last few months, he'd spent so much time away from the Underground that even Pap had pretty much stopped bugging him about puzzles or picking up his socks whenever he was home.

...Damn. What if he enjoyed killing stuff so much because it was the only thing he was good for anymore? If he could somehow stop, what would he have left?

And the worst part was that after all that, she'd still wound up hugging him again, and even now, his SOUL was still a little mushy around the edges.

He didn't understand. Frisk wasn't blind or stupid; how could anyone with half a brain see what he was capable of and still care about him that much?

And why was he getting aroused again?!

The last wagon had trundled out of the way. "It's very simple," the doctor remarked, pulling Sans along by the elbow as the backed-up crowd surged forward around them. "What would you rather have? Freedom to be as horrible as you wish, or the right to ever see Frisk again?"

"But—"

"But what, Sans?"

But what, indeed. All this moralizing was background noise compared to the fact that she'd chosen her "adequate" future, and the only thing he could control was whether he'd be allowed to drop by from time to time. He had no right to pout – or be a complete fucking wreck – because she'd taken his advice and stopped agonizing over her decision. It wasn't as if anything had really changed, as far as he was concerned; she wasn't going to stop being his friend or teacher just because she was getting married to some human moron. Was it her fault that his deep-down, germ-sized hope of somehow fitting into her second fortune had been crushed like it deserved?

Stupid Gaster. If he hadn't given Sans that stupid chain, the idea of fathering her kid would never have been so cruelly plausible. Sans remembered how he'd found out he could make a tongue for himself when he wanted: he'd been curious about Toriel's famous pies a few years back and wanted to see if he could taste them somehow. In the same vein, the chain hadn't given him brand-new powers of smell or touch or boners, just shown him how he could've done it at any time.

Then Gaster had gone and told him for a fact that skeletons and humans could have children together, which meant sex, which brought it all full circle: he should be capable of manifesting and fully employing the relevant equipment, just like his tongue. Of course, there was that awkward size difference between him and the average human, and Frisk was even smaller than average, but if he could conjure a thing with magic, wouldn't it be logical to assume he could adjust it as needed? Hell, why couldn't he temporarily downsize his overall structure long enough to—

"—ans? Sans!"

The boss monster twitched. Dr. Serif had tugged him down a side street and looked ready to slap him to get his attention. Sans raised his hands. "What? Whaddya want?"

"I want to ascertain how you're going to behave before we arrive." The doctor somberly folded his arms, then spoiled the effect by getting the handkerchief out to blow his nose. "Are you going to be a friend, or a problem?"

There was that painfully accurate summation again. He needed to remember that he was operating under different rules than human males, or even other monsters: his actual parts weren't the biggest issue, no pun intended for once. He had to accept that it wasn't gonna happen. "I'm her friend," answered Sans. "Not like I can be much else. She's not a boss monster, so..."

"No...no, she is not." The doctor paused, as if in thought, then took Sans' elbow again. "To the castle, please, the stairwell outside her quarters. I don't know about you, but I'm freezing my ass off."

~

Sans was so nervous to face Frisk again that it was both a relief and a letdown to find out she wasn't in her rooms. "I did wonder," he remarked to Gaster as they threw off their disguises. The boss monster stacked some logs in the fireplace and tossed a handful of flame on them. "Right after I came here, she said her mom was sick, but I never heard anythin' else about it. This's the first time I know of that she's gone t'see 'er."

"Rosa doesn't do well with most visitors," Gaster explained. "She suffers from a degenerative neurological disorder. Frisk ensures she has the best possible care, but there is little to be done except keep her comfortable."

Sans scratched his metacarpals—using fire always made him itch. It was no wonder now that Frisk hadn't wanted him to go bug her mom with questions about her visit to the Underground. No wonder she was always so stressed, either, with a dad who was somehow neglectful _and_ nosy, and a mother physically and mentally out of commission. Poor lady—and then, when she'd just wanted a little bit of guidance from the fortune-teller, she'd gotten this fate-of-the-world shit dumped on her!

That did it. No matter how crappy and torn-up he felt, Sans vowed he wasn't going to do anything to make her life harder. He wouldn't kill that Owen guy; he could help deliver stuff, make sure no one tried to murder her before the wedding...

Fuck. He wished he'd never gotten caught, or that someone, anyone else had come to get him out of his cell that day. He'd known better than to get close to another human, he'd done it anyway, and now look what had happened!

...No, whatever he was feeling, she had to be feeling way worse, even if it was for different reasons. As things were, at least he could be here to help. He'd have to keep telling himself that.

Gaster had picked up a huge folder and was leafing through its contents, his face impassive. "She's left you some guidelines for your next set of experiments," the older skeleton said, indicating a small set of books and papers on the counter. "Completing them to the best of your ability would be an ideal apology for your absence. Let me know if you need help."

The boss monster could see the sense in that, so he read over Frisk's list of supplies and recommended recipes, each book marked conspicuously with a new bookmark. He had to smile at that. Her handwriting was cute, too, with little swirls on the ends of some letters.

The materials she'd set aside for him included a block of alfalfa hay, cubes of alfalfa meal, and pellets of various plant materials, though it was mostly alfalfa. Sans amused himself as he worked by thinking _alfalfalfafalfa_ until the word fell apart and reading it made him snicker. _Hay_ , he had to stay sane somehow!

It wasn't enough. Waiting for Frisk was killing him. Her lunch was delivered a couple of hours after they got back, and she wasn't there. Gaster told him not to be alarmed, that she'd probably been called to mediate something or help someone else now that she was being accompanied by humans instead of a giant skeleton, but that didn't make Sans feel any better.

Eventually, when the mixtures had all been applied to the seedlings and everything was labeled and recorded and double-checked, Sans got so antsy that he started looking through the other books on the worktable. One had a freshly dog-eared page that made him open it up to smooth it out, wondering why she'd bothered to get the damn bookmarks if she wasn't going to use them, and then why she'd been reading up on truth spells.

Huh. There was a scribbly mark at the start of one paragraph: _The stronger the application, the less ambiguous a subject's words become. Sarcasm, hyperbole, and similar rhetorical devices_ _cannot_ _be employed to say anything the subject does not sincerely believe to be true._ Sans shrugged, put a bookmark in like God intended, and set it aside.

"It's time," the royal sorcerer said presently, several hours after lunch. He put the folder away and beckoned to the younger skeleton. "This way. Please leave your device off."

Sans had forgotten about talking with the other sorcerers, and absolutely did not want to go. The doctor had to speak to him rather sternly and at great length about the importance of alternative energy, educating the highest levels of human society and allowing the best possible knowledge to be passed down therefrom, filtering out rumor and bad information before it began, all for the mutual benefit and future coexistence of monsters and humanity.

Sans still didn't wanna. Dr. Serif ended up having to shove him bodily out the doors and most of the way down the hall, unseen hands prodding him until he gave up.

Nevertheless, with his resolution to make things smoother for Frisk, Sans got through the meeting pretty well. It was held in a library with about a dozen whey-faced nerds in black robes, most of whom were too curious to be scared of him; he had to spend a half hour answering questions about monsters and letting them watch him breathe and talk and all sorts of crap first.

Then they went over Dr. Serif's notes, clarifying a few points Sans had forgotten or mixed up. The boss monster had to admit that the sorcerers were good about catching mathematical discrepancies, and one woman had some solid ideas about different alloys that could improve the solar arrays' efficiency and reduce the chance of warping or melting the panels. Her wavy hair reminded him of the High Priestess—one of her half-sisters?

Whatever. The discussion lasted a few hours, and though he did find it interesting, Sans wanted to see Frisk so badly that the moment they adjourned and Dr. Serif indicated he was going to go to his own quarters, the boss monster didn't even bother leaving the room before he teleported himself back. The guards were getting used to his sudden appearances, and informed him without much fear that Her Eminence had returned less than half an hour ago.

Sans faced the double doors and fought down his sudden nervousness. It was cowardly of him, but he couldn't bring himself to knock. Instead, he eased a few tendrils of magic through the crack in the doors – did she even realize the barrier was permeable there? – and lifted the bar very, very carefully, setting it against the wall on that side with as little noise as possible. The doors swung open on well-oiled hinges, and Sans shut them behind him just as quietly.

She wasn't in the workroom. The light outside was fading; the bedroom was dark, as was the office, and the dressing room. To his surprise, he heard faint splashing sounds from the tub—what was she doing in there so early?

At a loss, Sans wandered over to the worktable. At least he'd cleared it before they left for the meeting. The problem was that the dent was showing, the one from their argument over transitioning monsters from slavery to partnership. He still hated the idea, but there was no reason it couldn't work, maybe, eventually...in the other future where she'd opened the box.

Sans shook himself and applied his frustration to that stupid dent, hating the loss of self-control it represented. Sure enough, when he released a burst of magic over it, the damaged wood creaked, swelled, and filled itself back in like rising bread dough, leaving a solid surface with only a few fissures. _I'll be damned, I fixed something on purpose_ , he mused, poking at it.

The splashing in the bathroom stopped. The skeleton froze, wondering if she'd heard or felt anything, but then the sounds resumed. It occurred to him for the first time that she probably didn't have clothes on, and he immediately decided to think about something else. Oh, look, there was the folder Gaster had been reading the whole afternoon. Sans reached for it—

Something shot straight through his SOUL, seizing his entire body up, magic and bones and all. It was a sweet, unearthly sound—it was Frisk.

She wasn't humming, or whistling, or tapping a rhythm on something with her hands. She was singing, very low, just loud enough to give him chills: "The years now before us, fearful and unknown—I never imagined I'd face them on my own..." A deep breath. "May these thousand winters swiftly pass, I pray—I love you, I miss you, all these miles away..."

Sans was rigid, every fiber of his being waiting for the next verse. But the voice had faltered, and the next sound was an all-too-familiar sniff, and another, till it became clear that she was, if not actively crying, too upset to continue. _Well, no shit, that's the sappiest thing I've ever heard and you're already a mess,_ said a very tiny corner of his mind.

Meanwhile, his feet were moving, and the rest of him followed straight to the bathroom. Too bad she hadn't locked it, because he could not physically stop himself from opening the door and striding in to kneel by the tub, reach down, and drape his hand over the very startled priestess' back and shoulders, pulling her as close to him as the side of the tub would allow. "Hi," he murmured into her hair.

Nothing happened for several seconds. "...Sans?" Frisk had hunched over in alarm when he burst in, but after a moment, her hand crept up to rest on his humerus, though she remained huddled against the high enamel side. "What..."

His eyes were closed, his mind still a hazy mess of feeling. It didn't help that she smelled amazing, and she felt amazing, and...

"Sans?"

She was much warmer than before. Well, that made sense. The bathwater was very hot, and she was in the bath.

Something felt different under his hand. How had she gotten even softer? His metacarpals flexed, and she squeaked. "Sans!" she hissed.

"Hm?" How was he supposed to concentrate on anything when he was touching bare skin?

Wait. Why was he touching b—

Oh.

Shit.

...So, if she was in the tub...that meant he shouldn't move his hand down like—

_"SANS!"_

~

The good news was that she didn't seem sad anymore. The better-than-expected news was that once the shock wore off, she wasn't really angry with him, though he didn't know that right away. The split-second he snapped out of it, Sans had been so mortified that he took a shortcut straight back to the bedroom and locked himself in, half out of fear for his personal safety and half afraid she'd be mad enough to leave again if he hung around.

But within ten minutes, she was knocking on the door and saying his name. "Nope," he muttered back.

A sigh. "Please let me in, Sans. I just want to talk."

Dammit. Sans twitched a phalange at the lock, and it clicked open.

Frisk was in her purple robe, face still flushed. Sans remained sitting on the side of bed by the opposite wall, staring at the cold fireplace, awaiting his doom.

Another sigh. She clambered onto the bed, or so he inferred from the rustling of the mattress and the scent that drifted over him a moment later. "You're not in trouble. That was my fault," she said, strangely matter-of-fact.

Blink. Blink. Blinkblink. "How."

The priestess shifted around, and he risked a peek at her. She was sitting at about his-arm's-length away, her hands and feet tucked in, legs pulled up and cheek resting on her knees. "I wasn't sure if I'd heard you come back or not. I was lonely, I wasn't thinking. I had this stupid idea to...I don't know, lure you in, if you were here?" Frisk buried her face in her fuzzy sleeve. "That didn't sound any better in my head." Squirm. "I didn't think I was using that much magic. I wasn't thinking at all. I'm so sorry."

Okay. That was unexpected. Sans was relieved, but didn't know whether to also be pleased or angry or what. He could start by kicking himself that he hadn't gotten any kind of look at her—she was so small that when she was scrunched up at one end of the tub, he'd have to be looking straight down to see anything, which he hadn't. He hadn't busted in there with any intention except to be near her.

So...should he tell her that he didn't understand many nuances of human interaction, but he was pretty sure that being lonely was the worst possible reason to call someone else in while she was in the tub? She probably didn't think that he was as functionally male as he was, which was completely understandable, but still...

Still, here she was. And it turned out that his tiny, squishy, beaten-up hope, the idea that he could somehow cram himself into a bigger role in her life than "pet project," wasn't as dead as he'd thought. It was resurging, and so was the now-familiar urge to grab her, except this time, he knew exactly what he was supposed to do with it. He knew that she'd missed him and had just admitted to enticing him in while she was naked, and—

Sans didn't remember that he was a boss monster, or that she trusted him not to do anything like this, or any of the other terrible things that could happen if he got carried away. He was shifting his weight to reach over and pull her toward him when she said, with her face still buried, "Where were you yesterday?"

Oh. Right. The skeleton moved back, screaming internally and crossing his legs as hard as he could. "I—I wasn't off hurtin' anyone. I was at yer house...uh..." There was no other way to say it, was there? "I was drunk as hell, pretty much the whole day. Doc says switchin' back and forth from me ta human 'n back made some wacky chemical reaction that fermented all the apples I'd had, 'n...yeah. I didn't do it on purpose, I swear."

She raised her head, frowning. Sans wracked his brain for something to make her stop it. "At least we found the _core_ of the problem, huh?"

Her expression lightened a little. "All right, I believe you." But then she frowned again. "Please don't do that again. You really scared me when you didn't come home yesterday."

Come home? Was she trying to fucking _kill_ him? "Sorry." Sans forced a laugh. "You can always come check on me when we're asleep, right? Now I know ta clean up whatever I'm dreamin' in case I have company."

The young woman fidgeted, tugging a lock of hair behind her ear. "Do you have a lot of those, where you're reliving things you've done?"

She didn't sound upset. Why didn't she sound upset? "Sometimes," he admitted. "Depends how I'm feelin' when I go ta sleep, what I've had to eat, how tired I am, that kinda thing."

Frisk rested her head on her knees again, looking right at him. "You weren't always like that, were you?"

It wasn't an accusation. It was a calm, non-judgmental invitation to talk about it if he wanted to, which made him feel worse. "Well, no," he said, throttling down his...everything. "I wasn't a giant psycho till I got hit 'n started growin' like this." The boss monster tapped his sternum. "It's been a little at a time, but I get bigger n' meaner every year. Back when me an' Pap first met Kris, I hated humans, but I never woulda dreamed of killin' 'em full-time. Now..."

Her gaze didn't waver. "Did King Asgore order you to guard the Underground from poachers?"

"Nope. 'Fact, 'm really not s'posed to be out there at all. No one is." Sans scratched the back of his skull. He could still feel it where she'd touched him the other night. "I started doin' it a few years ago when a kid came through Snowdin cryin' fer his mom. We all knew she'd gone t'look for her husband 'cause _he_ left to hunt some deer 'n didn't come back. So out I went, and I found 'er pretty quick. They'd wrung all her magic out. She was still alive, but not for long."

Someone knocked on the outside doors. Frisk very quietly rose and went to open it, bringing their dinner inside and putting the heavy bar back in place. Then she returned to her spot on the bed. "So the King doesn't know what you're doing?" she asked.

Why were they talking about this depressing shit instead of hugging some more? ...Probably because he couldn't trust himself right now to stop at hugging. Besides, he'd never told anyone any of this – especially not Pap – and he'd probably never be this comfortable with anyone else. "Oh, he knows," said Sans. "He's just useless, an' scared of me."

 _"Asgore?_ What do you mean?"

Her eyes had gone wide. Sans studied them for a second, thinking vaguely nice things about the color of wine and being very lovely in general, but it wasn't enough to drag him out of the mood he was working himself into. "I mean he's no good without the Queen, and she's hunkered down in the Ruins 'cause she blames him for everythin' that happened with Chara before the accident. Meanwhile, _his_ big dumb ass knows she's right, but he won't apologize 'cause he's still pissed that she stood up to him in fronta everyone and let the humans go, as if killin' 'em woulda brought Asriel back. It's almost worse than havin' no rulers at all." The boss monster looked at his hand, feeling his eyes light up. "There's no food, no leadership, no one knows what's gonna happen."

"Sans—"

It was too late. Now that he'd started, the words came pouring out: "It wouldn't be so bad if everythin' in the Underground wasn't made of pure magic, but when there's that much fear and anger goin' around, you can actually _see_ it build up, like fog. No joke. It's this shit-awful funk just kinda hangin' over everything. A couple years after the humans left, it got so bad that it even started infectin' Papyrus. The first time he yelled at me – I mean, screamin' at me outta nowhere, when I wasn't even buggin' him – I went out an' I saw this cloud over our house, and I just kinda snapped."

His hand opened and closed. Frisk stayed quiet. "I was so pissed that I tried ta pull some of that crap out of the air with my magic, just t'see what'd happen," Sans continued, "an' it actually worked. It came down, and it vanished. So I grabbed all the rest of it I could find, 'n it stayed gone. 'Fore I knew it, Pap was his old self again, 'n everyone seemed a little happier."

She shook her head. "When you say that it vanished, do you mean it evaporated, or did you absorb it?"

"Yep! Turns out when my magic touches any of it, I can't get it out again. It's just...in me. An' I hafta siphon more it off every couple of years, or everyone starts gettin' screwy again." He chuckled, a hollow sound that made her wince. "Gotta say, it's powerful as hell. The more I take, the stronger I get, an' now look at me." Sans shrugged. "I dunno. It's like gettin' hit with that explosion opened a hole in me I could fill with whatever I wanted, an' I didn't have anything else ta put in it."

Frisk watched him in silence, letting Sans get the last of his thoughts out. "So here we are. Pap's stayed his cool self, I'm a big ol' grouch, an' I could probably take Asgore in a fight if I really wanted. He knows damn well what I'm doin', but as long as I'm out protectin' everyone, he doesn't hafta worry about what else I'm up to, an' I feel like a helper. Everybody wins."

"I doubt that," the priestess murmured. "If you've spent years soaking up all the negative energy in the Underground and then feeding it with constant violence..."

It was now dark outside. Sans made a careless gesture. "I'm hungry. Ya hungry? Let's—"

"I'll go back with you."

The skeleton stopped in the act of pushing himself to his feet. He slowly turned to face her. "What did you say?"

"You asked me to come with you to speak to Asgore. This is my answer," she said calmly. "We still have a little over two weeks left. I've organized a series of inspections that will probably end up with more monsters being confiscated and placed in my custody. We can have one of them bring a letter to the Underground ahead of time to let him know we're—"

"Nope." Sans got up and went into the workroom. "Time ta eat." He unloaded the trolley, got everything set out, put the trolley out in the hall, barred the doors, and sat down.

Then he sighed, and went back to the bedroom, where Frisk was still sitting on the bed, just staring at him. "Look. Frisk. I've been thinkin' it over, an' it was a bad idea. I..." He shut his eyes as tight as he could. "Asgore will kill you. Okay? You've got the most unbelievable SOUL I've ever seen, and he'll see it, too, an' he's gonna try ta take it. He's gotten so bitter since Toriel left that I don't think we could even talk to 'im. He'd kill you, or we'd hafta kill him."

Frisk stood up on the bed, so that she was only a couple feet shorter than him, several feet away. "It's true, then? A monster can steal a human SOUL to become more powerful?"

"It's true, and it wouldn't be 'more powerful.' Try 'godlike.' An' that's just a regular monster 'n human. If Asgore got ahold of your SOUL, he could kill every human in this kingdom, an' nobody could stop 'im."

Her face had grown pale. "I see," she managed. Frisk slowly sank back to the mattress. "I...go ahead and eat. Please get started without me."

Sans felt that helpless anxiety that, unbeknownst to him, was so common among males of both species—should he at least try to comfort her first? "'Kay," he rumbled. "'m really sorry, Frisk. If there was anythin' I could do ta—"

 _"Please_ get started without me!"

Crap. He should've just listened to her. "Okay, okay, I'm goin'!"

Sure enough, the moment he stepped into the workroom, the bedroom door closed, and Sans felt a fresh barrier go up. He sat down and poked at his food. It didn't look that great anymore, but he might as well be miserable, not miserable and hungry. It wasn't like she was going to be in there all night, right?

...Right?

~

_No sooner had they stepped out of the flowery cavern than she heard more footsteps, bigger and heavier ones. "Asriel!" It was a woman's voice echoing from far off, stern and a little scared. "Asriel, my child, where are you? They'll be here any moment!"_

_"Here, Mama," called her new friend. "We're coming." He tugged gently on her hand, and she let him guide her down a long, purple-tiled hallway._

_"'We'?" The motherly voice was moving toward them. "What do you mean, dear? No one else should be down here unless—"_

_They rounded a corner, and so did Asriel's mother. She'd sounded like a normal human mom, but she was another goat monster, with short horns and a purple robe. "My goodness!" The goat-lady hurried forward and dropped to her knees in front of the child. "Where did you come from, little one? Are you hurt? Is he hurt, Asriel?"_

_"No, Mama," he said, smiling at the child again. "I found him in the golden flowers. He got separated from the others and fell down here."_

_"I see," the goat-lady said, her voice sounding funny. But then she smiled warmly at the human, who smiled right back. She'd never had a real mom, and this one seemed like everything she'd ever dreamed of, except with more fur. "Welcome to the Underground, my child. I am so very pleased to have you with us. I am Queen Toriel, and it seems you've been lucky enough to meet my son, Prince Asriel."_

_The little human looked up at him in terror. The Prince? Had she been rude to him, or to the Queen? Should she bow, or say something royal, or—_

_"It's all right, Kris," said Asriel. "Mama, I'd like to take him to the house and get him cleaned up before the rest of the humans arrive. We'll be in the Grand Hall as soon as we can."_

_"You most certainly will not! You will go tell your father that_ I _am attending to our very first guest, and we will be there when Kris is ready." Toriel got to her feet and took the child's hand from Asriel. "Come with me, little one. Off you go, dear." She made a shooing motion at her son._

_Asriel sighed, but arguing was clearly not an option. "Yes, Mama. I'll see you again soon, Kris!"_

_The child nodded, watching him disappear around the corner with amazing speed. Monsters could do that, couldn't they? At least some of the stories seemed to be true._

_Toriel smiled down at her again. The child suddenly felt strange, but in a good way. Asriel was wonderful, and his mother looked so loving that the child wanted to throw herself into her arms right there._

_And just like magic, the Queen released her hand, knelt, and opened her arms for a huge, warm, cloud-soft hug. "Poor child," Toriel murmured, the vibrations in her chest rumbling against the human's cheek. "We will take care of you for as long as you are here. I promise."_

_The child burrowed her face into the monster's robe, where no one could get mad at her for crying. If this was what the Underground was really like, then she wasn't scared anymore. She wouldn't run away; she'd stay as long as the others did, and fib all they wanted her to. She wished she could stay forever!_

~

Sans jerked awake as a fork rattled onto a plate. "Dirt," said Frisk. "Sorry about that."

He'd fallen asleep on the workroom floor. It was dark out; the clock was about to strike 2. "What're you doin' up?" The skeleton got up and sat at the table.

"Cleaning," she said pointedly, stacking the last plate onto the last tray and setting them on the neglected trolley.

There was a stack of paper and a couple of ink bottles laid out, and Sans recalled how Gaster said she'd been writing nonstop. "What's all that?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's paper." Frisk sat down and grabbed a fresh sheet. "I have arrangements to make."

Sans made a rude noise, ignoring the twinge in his SOUL. "Yeah, but isn't it kinda soon? He hasn't even asked ya." He rapped the tabletop with his knuckles. "What's the first step again with all that crap? Gettin' a ring?"

The priestess paused, face going blank. "The first...?" She shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Can I assume you had a talk with Dr. Serif on your way here?"

Twinge twinge. "Yep. He tol' me he threw the box out for ya." Twiiiiinge. "He wasn't lyin', was he?"

"No." She opened her eyes. "I've checked your work on the seedlings. I don't know exactly what you had in mind for that last batch of pellets, but we'll see how it goes over the next week. Do you have any questions?"

What the crap? Was that all she was going to say? "Uh, yeah, one question. How much sleep did ya get just now? I was up fer a couple hours before I passed out."

"Hm." The priestess rummaged in a little box of writing supplies. Only two witchlights were on, just enough to show that she looked terrible: pale, red-eyed, and...resigned, as if someone had done something really awful and left her to deal with it, but it was somehow her fault, too.

"Don't 'hm' me, lady. Ya look like total crap," he said bluntly.

Frisk ignored him, fishing out a pen. He was ready to demand an explanation when she started whistling again, the same beautiful but sad song from before. This felt much more pointed than her usual soothing noises, but it was still effective; Sans could muster just enough energy to be indignant that she was putting him back to sleep, and then his head was on the table, and he was asleep.

~

To Sans' surprise and frustration, the next few days followed the same pattern, but worse. There was no more hugging, or talking about feelings, or any of the things he'd grown to expect. Frisk stayed a little too busy and grew more and more tired, but she ignored his questions, saying she'd explain what she was doing once it was over; after the second day or so, it was all he could do not to blow up at her. He couldn't force her to act happier now that her decision was made, but it sucked that he'd advised her to pick something and stop being miserable, and she'd picked something, and now they were both miserable.

Not only would she not talk to him, she kept inviting Dr. Serif to the workroom to go over solar panel specifications or observe his experiments. There was no more quiet time alone together in the mornings or evenings: if they weren't studying, she was writing, or so mopey and distracted that it wasn't fun to beat her at chess anymore. The moment they were done eating dinner, she took a bath and went straight to bed, or at least to her office, leaving the light on and probably doing more goddamn work instead of sleeping.

She also started making him escort her into town in the afternoons to help her carry stuff. She'd gone instantly from no interest in shopping whatsoever to buying large quantities of the most random things imaginable: play scripts, different types of magic stones, miniature targets for archery practice, hair accessories, bath items, bolts of silk, children's toys, dance charts, expensive figurines, sheet music, a silver tea service, books on education—it couldn't be some kind of weird impulse thing, because the few times she let him peek over her shoulder as she wrote, he'd seen that she was making shopping lists. Whenever they brought another load of crap back to her rooms, she didn't unpack anything, just had him stack it clear up to the ceiling in her office.

The kicker was that Frisk didn't even seem to enjoy hoarding all that stuff, or anything else she was doing. She almost never smiled at him or made puns anymore. She just kept writing, and dodging his questions, and looked ready to cry pretty much all the time.

It would've been neat if his libido had also gotten mad and decided to grab its toys and go home...but no. Sans had now perused enough of Frisk's science and anatomy textbooks to piece together the entire picture of human reproduction; through his own hands-on experimentation – in the bathroom, in the middle of the night, sober this time – he could say with reasonable confidence that the process for humans and monsters was much more similar than he'd thought, and everything was working fine on his end. If he had his skin on, he could of course feel more, but he couldn't finish. As himself, the process took a lot of concentration, and he got weirded out if he looked down at it too long, but—

Why was he even bothering? Sure, it felt pretty great, but he wasn't a human. He was a monster, and monsters weren't designed to waste their time or magic playing with themselves. His instincts were all pointed straight at Frisk, and now that he knew what he was supposed to do, it was getting harder – ha – to content himself with alone time. He couldn't stop thinking about holding her again, and he didn't think it was _that_ disingenuous to want to point out to her how much better she'd feel if she'd opened up to him again. And then sex.

...Damn it all to _hell._ Was the entire second half of his apprenticeship going to be like this?

~

_It was her own fault. She wasn't supposed to be there. She'd snuck in to get some chocolate from the refrigerator, and when she heard the grown-ups come in, she realized she'd taken too long to sneak back out. The best she could do was run behind Toriel's armchair in the living room and flatten herself against the back of it at an angle. Never mind how hot the fireplace was; they already sounded mad._

_"For the thousandth time," she heard the King say in his big, rumbling voice, "if I had known that he could not marry you—"_

_"Then I still wouldn't have been welcome in my own home. Would I, Papa?"_

_The child buried her head in her arms. It was_ her _. Chara. She wasn't even pretending to be nice anymore. All her hatred was out in the open, aimed right at her former parents._

_"My dearest child, please," Toriel said desperately._

_"Your dearest child? Where? It would be so lovely to meet them! Ah, don't tell me—did you pick up another stray human?"_

_"Chara," protested the King._

_"Is it Kris?" A short, cruel laugh. "I'm sure you'd rather have a boy this time! If they get someone pregnant,_ they _don't have to deal with the consequences, do they? By all means, you can have him. I know you both love surprises."_

 _The little human wished she was dead. Toriel and Asgore were both such nice people! Why was Chara saying these horrible things to them? Did she really like_ anyone _? Was it some kind of game to her to be so pretty, act so perfect, and sing such amazing songs, then turn around and be a bigger monster than anyone with fur or horns?_

_"What do you want, Chara? What would you have of either of us? We cannot turn back time, but—"_

_"But you can do whatever you damn well please now. Don't worry, Mama, Papa. You might've thrown me out like a dog, but I made do. At least_ I _survived."_

_The armchair rocked back into the child's body as Toriel sank into it. Asgore was silent; there was no sound except the Queen's sobbing._

_More footsteps. Oh, no, it was Asriel. He was going to come in and see his mother crying and hear Chara, and—_

_"Big brother!" Light, prancing footsteps ran to meet Asriel. "I'm so sorry, Azzy, but we were talking, and I think I upset Mama," Chara said sheepishly. "Can you and I go for a walk so she can calm down?"_

_"Of course!" A brief pause, as if Asriel was seeing his parents' expressions. "Er...we'll be back in a bit. Is that all right?"_

_Asgore grunted. The child could feel Toriel shaking through the back of the armchair, though the Queen held her tears back till the front door had closed behind Asriel._

_The King cleared his throat. "Tori, I—"_

_"Don't you 'Tori' me! Not now. Maybe not_ ever!"

_The child hunched down even further as Asgore hurried away down the hall, slamming the bedroom door. This couldn't be happening. Maybe, if she stayed still enough, she'd wake up. If she was still...if she was good, maybe—_

_~_

Fourteen days were left of his month at the castle.

Frisk had gotten up looking as pale and worn as usual, but the moment Sans saw her leave her office, he knew something had changed. She was still unhappy, but now she also looked determined. "We're having dinner with His Majesty and Prince Gaius tonight," she announced as he unloaded breakfast onto the table.

"Oh yeah?" Sans glanced at the tray of unopened mail. "How d'ya know? You didn't mention it yesterday."

"I just decided it," she said flatly.

Sans sensed this was not the time to ask stupid questions, and he couldn't think of any smart ones, so he nodded and turned his attention to his food while Frisk wrote yet another note and put her scary-looking official seal on it. A few words at the double doors, and a guard ran off to take it straight to the King.

The course of the day itself was decided for them: before they had finished eating, someone else came to the doors with a sheaf of papers. Frisk brought them back to the table and asked, "Do you remember how I mentioned surprise inspections on how monsters are being kept?" She held up the papers. "I ordered fifteen of them for last night. These are the reports."

That explained several of the letters she'd been working on. "Didja ever get those records you wanted from the doughy guy?"

Frisk didn't crack a smile, but at least she wasn't frowning. "Yes, the Cardinal provided them the day you took Snowdrake home. I'll keep my promise to show it all to you, but I wanted to get the worst of the worst taken care of first. This way, you don't have to worry about anyone being in immediate danger. Please get started on those root measures while I go through these."

He did, and she did, and Sans could only console himself that he at least knew what she was writing this time. Of the fifteen near-simultaneous visits, five had resulted in citations and scheduled followups, while _eight_ monsters had been found in such dangerous or unsanitary conditions that the Church agents had immediately confiscated them. That explained why she hadn't told him sooner what those letters were for—he might have gone straight out to liberate the monsters.

Frisk had prepared a dozen letters with blanks for monster and owner names and specific offenses, so that she had only to fill those in to get the custodial paperwork started. In the meantime, the monsters were being cared for in temporary quarters by people who knew that the High Priestess would hear of anything at all being done wrong and take swift action to correct it.

Watching her scribble her way through the pre-written letters and the documents necessary for the deposits on each monster, Sans had to reflect on the amount of time and forethought all of this had required, and congratulated himself on not going off on her for being so little fun the past few days. Granted, it was a pretty low bar, but he'd stumbled all the way over it! Even if she was going to marry some other schlub, he, Sans the skeleton, had been a helper, and he hadn't had to kill a single person to do it!

...Huh. He really had helped, and he really hadn't killed anyone, had he? Now all he had to do was keep his hands to himself and focus on his genuinely interesting homework for a couple more weeks, and...and he'd figure out what to do then.

Once Frisk was done and had summoned someone to whisk the papers away to their exciting new life, she had a new task for him. "When you return to the Underground," she told him, "I'll send as many seeds and herbal ingredients along with you as I can. But you also have your salary, and if you're going to use it for large quantities of foodstuffs, we need to arrange it ahead of time. I've compiled a list of current prices for wheat, barley, different kinds of beans, rice, and other nonperishables. Please look through these and make a rough estimate of what you'd like to pick up on your way back. I'll pay for the rental of a horse and wagon, or wagons, depending what you choose and how many trips we want to do."

"Neato." Sans glanced at the tray of letters, still untouched, and recognized the crest on one that had fallen slightly askew from the pile. "Hey, isn't that from yer boyfriend?"

"Don't be childish," Frisk said, so sharply that he wished he'd kept his mouth shut. She plucked the note out of the stack and ripped it open, scanning the few short lines. "Of _course_ he heard about it already." The priestess tossed the note aside. "Before you ask, no, he's not proposing. He says he'll be there another week, and then they're both going to visit their parents."

Interesting. Sans didn't know if the guy was being overly confident that she'd wait for him, or what. Ha, maybe rich humans just took so long to set up big weddings that he was giving her a couple months' head start to get her shoes made or something.

...Actually, that could be the case. But at least it'd be a while before the guy came back! Who knew? Maybe he would choke to death on something or fall off his horse or—

Sans knew he should try to not wallow in evil thoughts, but it wasn't his fault: Frisk had bought some perfume when they were out yesterday, a light vanilla with hints of citrus that made her smell like candy. He'd had trouble focusing around her before, and now Sans found himself crunching his femurs together to help remind him that no.

Still, he had plenty else to think about; figuring out what to buy for the Underground, how much everyone would like of which food within his budget, was kind of like a puzzle. Papyrus probably wouldn't have enjoyed it, but Sans got so into it that lunch came while he was still scribbling in the margins. "We have more paper, you know," Frisk remarked at his shoulder.

That sounded more like the lady he knew. Sans didn't know what she'd been thinking, but as long as she was happy again, or on her way there...

Another good thing happened a little while after they were done with lunch. A couple of servants came puffing down the hall with two enormous boxes that turned out to be a cavernous black overcoat trimmed with white fur, a giant red shirt, and correspondingly large trousers. "Surprise," Frisk said as the men unpacked everything. "I ordered them when you were out with Snowdrake. I thought you could use more than one set of clothes. Very fancy, I know."

It was almost exactly the same outfit as his human form, but real, and exceptionally well-made. How much had the materials alone cost, never mind getting clothes this size in less than a week? "Are these slippers?" Sans demanded, lifting out a pair of enormous black slippers.

She grinned for the first time in days. "Remember the time we were arguing about whether you needed shoes? Here's a compromise. Try them on, please."

The shoemaker must have thought she was joking about his size, but the joke was on him: they fit perfectly. It _was_ more comfortable than clacking around with bare bones. Way more. "Huh," he said.

"Excellent. There's no charge for these, by the way. Consider it hazard pay for taking me to the festival, and all that shopping." Frisk gave each of the servants a hundred-dinar piece and nodded them and the empty boxes out of the room.

Aaargh, she smelled great and she was being ludicrously generous—oh, good, she was going into the office now to let him try the new stuff on. Well, from a civilized point of view, he could see the sense in having more than one set of clothes: he'd only had his newish ones washed one time, and had worn the gross old ones while he waited. This way, he could just throw those out.

...Or he could throw out the other set, too. The black-and-red ensemble was warm and comfortable, it had great pockets, it looked cool, and he was _never_ taking it off.

That resolution stayed with him all the way to their dinner with the King. When they arrived at the small dining room where King Stephin ate with his son every night, Sans remained decked out in his new stuff, including the slippers. To his absolute bemusement, not only had Frisk not argued, she'd donned a black dress with little sparkly bits and a garnet necklace and earrings. It was stupid and dumb of him to be so pleased that they matched, but, they matched.

This did not escape the King, who welcomed him with the same cordiality as their first meeting and gave Frisk a weird look as she came in. The Prince was a thin, sandy-haired, sickly-looking kid who had obviously been warned about him, because when the greetings and introductions were over, he seemed more relieved than scared. When he wouldn't stop staring, Sans ignored his own instructions and looked directly at him to say, "No worries, I don't bite."

Gaius nodded, fascinated. Frisk took a dainty spoonful of soup and, under the table, kicked Sans in the tibia. "Sans has made remarkable progress in his studies," she said pleasantly.

"Oh? How wonderful," the King said, also pleasantly.

"Yes, he'll be invaluable to his people when he returns to the Underground. I wanted to ask you, Majesty, to consider whether it may be permissible for me to accompany him there for a short time, to offer him my continued assistance."

Sans glanced at her in disbelief. Yes, he'd heard right, and she was smiling at him in open defiance. The skeleton had to force himself not to snarl at her. What the hell was this?

The King didn't seem much happier with the idea than he was. "That may not be wise, Your Eminence," he replied. "I wish relations between our nations were at a point where such a venture would be possible, but I have been made to understand that my brother monarch is no longer inclined to receive human emissaries. We must consider your personal safety."

"Of course." Frisk sipped her wine, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "It's a pity you couldn't have visited with the last delegation, Majesty. I'm sure you would have enjoyed catching up with King Asgore."

From the King's stiffened back and tightened mouth, Sans guessed that it was one of those polite little conversational bitch-slaps humans were so good at. He wasn't sure about dishing one out to the actual King, but the old man seemed to recover well enough. "Indeed," he said. "I'm sure your pupil will prove capable."

Frisk inclined her head, earrings swaying. "I hope this will be the case, Your Majesty, and that the knowledge he gains from us will be useful enough to prove our good intentions to his King."

The conversation moved right along from there, but Sans was barely listening. He made the correct noises when Gaius started babbling at him about the book he was reading about people fighting each other with giant cats or swords or something; he sort of laughed at Stephin's jokes; he let the High Priestess tell them about the things they were working on. "Sans says there are magic flowers in the Underground that will repeat whatever you say back to you, and to the next person who touches their petals," she informed the young Prince.

"It'll repeat anything?" Gaius asked eagerly, no doubt plotting the sort of words he'd say.

"Any sound at all. If I ever make it to the Underground, shall I bring one back for you?"

The boy agreed so enthusiastically that he started coughing, and dinner was brought to an end by the arrival of dessert: apple turnovers. Sans took several, mind still buzzing, though he noticed that, like the rest of the food, the things were pretty damn tasty. So was she messing with him, or trying to throw him off so he would be too distracted to do something rude or scary?

No, she knew exactly what she was doing: as they bowed their way out and returned to her workroom, her head stayed high, and she carried herself to her dressing room with absolute certainty. Frisk came out in her robe and stopped in front of Sans, who was blocking the bathroom door. "Yes?" she asked rhetorically.

"Oh, nothin'. I'm just tryin' ta figure out what's wrong with my ears. It sure sounded ta me like you told His Majesty that ya don't care if _my_ Majesty wants to rip your heart out 'n eat it."

The priestess feigned dismay. "I'm so sorry to tell you this, Sans, but...your ears, they're—"

"Not now!" Sans jammed his hands into his pockets, leaning down to look her in the face. "I already told ya, I'm not takin' you with me! Ya got that?"

"I got it." Frisk crossed her arms at the waist. On a hunch, the boss monster checked her SOUL—oh, fuck, it was already that bright? And her determination was still rising. "That's really unfortunate. It'll make getting in a lot more difficult for me, not to mention dangerous," she added.

The boss monster ground his teeth. "Ya know what's not hard _or_ dangerous? Keepin' yer ass away from the Underground!"

She smiled, and said, "No."

Sans was at a complete loss. He had never heard anything more definite than that one word. "Why 'no'?" he asked, incredulity overtaking his anger for a moment. "Do ya really not trust me to teach the others the stuff I'm learnin'?"

"That's not it," she replied.

"Then what the hell is it? Are ya curious? Do you wanna tell everyone yer mom said hi or somethin'?!"

"No." Frisk's arms dropped to her sides. "I want to tell them that _I_ say hi." She smiled again, but in a wistful, absolutely unyielding way. "Thank you for being so patient with me the past few days, Sans. I haven't..." Her smile disappeared, one hand brushing her hair back and the other curling into a fist. "I lied to you. I lied to everyone, but I should've told you the truth already. I..." She swallowed, her pulse racing so that he could see it in her throat. "I opened the box, Sans."

The clock ticked. The fire hissed and popped.

"No you didn't," the boss monster said blankly. "The doc threw it out for ya."

"He threw it away _after_ I opened it," she said, enunciating each word carefully. "After our dream, I woke up, I opened the box, and I took out this little orb inside it—" Frisk made a small circle of her thumb and forefinger to illustrate its size. "I made a barrier. I stuck the orb into it, and when I pulled the barrier back in, the memories came with it."

The skeleton felt as if someone had opened the top of his skull and vigorously swished his brains around, then slammed the top back on. "So...?"

"So I gave him the box out in the hallway in front of the guards, and we acted as though I'd never opened it." Frisk swallowed again. "It's been coming back to me in bits and pieces, but now I know what happened. Mostly. And I am telling you—" Her face hardened until she was almost unrecognizable. "I am going back to the Underground, with or without you. I'm going to see everyone again or _die trying_. I am not exaggerating, Sans. Do you understand me?"

"Hell fucking no, I don't understand you!" Sans' foot rose and hit the floor so hard that, even with the slipper on, he felt a board crack beneath the carpeting. "Whaddya mean, 'go back'? Are ya makin' shit up 'cause you have some kind of death wish?"

She was breathing rapidly, her throat still pulsing. "A death wish? How many times has someone tried to kill me _here_ , Sans, even in my own bedroom? If I go with you, at least I'll have someone to hide behind!"

"I'm not takin' ya anywhere more dangerous than the candy shop, or whatever other shit you wanna get next." He snorted. "'sat why you've been buyin' all that crap? Are ya gonna play Father Christmas an' bring everyone in the Underground a buncha presents?"

"Yes," she snapped. Sans was seriously considering teleporting in order to avoid wrecking something when Frisk went on, "Think about it. Who do you think the targets are for? Do you want Undyne destroying your front window again because she got carried away and forgot that Monster Kid couldn't catch any of her spears? Then Papyrus had to send her home because she treated cleanup like another challenge and kept pounding the glass instead of sweeping it up."

Cold shock poured down Sans' spine. "Wha...how—"

"The magic stones are for Alphys to study. She's probably starved for more plays to read, and she can act them out with the new figurines, but she'll have to share the scripts with Mettaton. The luxury goods are mostly for him, and a few are for Toriel. Does she still have trouble with the skin itching at the base of her horns? Either way, I also got her some books on teaching. I'll leave the tea service outside Asgore's door with a note on it—shall I go on?"

"This isn't funny!" Sans was breathing heavily, too. "What—how the fuck d'you know all that? None of the humans were there when Undyne broke the window! It was just us an'..."

"And Kris."

Sans shook his head wildly, stumbling back until he bumped into the bathroom door. "This is _messed up_ , Frisk! Ya found Kris and didn't even tell me?! How long were you gonna sit on that?!"

"I only just found out, and I'm telling you now," she said firmly.

Sans' SOUL felt sick, and ecstatic, and so scared that he wanted to hurt something. "Okay. Great. Perfect. What are you tellin' me now, Frisk? Where is he? Is he okay? What else did he tell you?"

Frisk shut her eyes. She opened them. "We don't give Papyrus enough credit," she commented. "He figured it out before I did, and you still don't—"

"Would you fucking stop the cryptic bullshit an' spit it out already?!"

"Fine! _I'm_ Kris!"

Another crystallized moment. Sans felt his head move back and forth, back and forth, on its own. "Shut up."

"I'm not joking."

More shaking, spreading down his frame. "What the hell, Frisk," he muttered, almost more disappointed than angry.

"They brought me along to see how the monsters would treat a child, as a guinea pig," she spat. "Why do you think I was allowed to spend so much time with you completely unsupervised?"

"Just knock it off, Frisk! Kris was a friggin' boy!"

"Kris had short hair and wore boys' clothes! It's not the same thing!"

"God damn it, Kris was, what, four or five—"

"None of you ever asked me how old I was! I was _ten,_ thank you, but I was so malnourished that I probably looked like a toddler!"

Sans dropped to a squat, resting his elbow on his knee and his hand over his face. "I don't fuckin' believe this. Didja get brainwashed, or is this some kinda joke?"

"Why in God's name would I or anyone else joke about this, Sans?!"

"I don't fucking know!" Sans slammed his fist into his femur so hard that Frisk cringed. "Ya know what? We're done here. I'm goin' to bed." He got up, hobbling a little to move past her. "Have fun in yer little fantasy world. Lemme know when—"

"Do you want to see my stripes?"

Sans stopped as though he'd run into a brick wall. He could feel his sockets burning red-orange as his SOUL tried to yank him backwards. Sans slowly turned to look at Frisk, who hadn't moved, her back still to him.

Stripes. Sans watched, too heartsick to speak, as the young woman opened the neck of her robe and began easing it off her shoulders.

_It wasn't entirely Papyrus' fault. Sans should have been keeping at least one socket on them, but it was late and he was busy on the floor with some very important dozing. A pillow came flying at him, and he caught it with his eyes still closed, sending it end over end back at Papyrus._

_"NYEH HEH! WELL DONE, BROTHER! (PSST! HUMAN! LET'S HIT HIM WITH THE SPECIAL ATTACK NEXT!)"_

_Kris giggled. "Okay," he whispered, somehow even louder than Pap._

_"ARE YOU READY TO SURPRISE HIM? VERY WELL! ONE! TWO! ...WHOOPSIE!"_

_Sans did not see what happened next, but he did hear the distinctive sound of a full glass of water being knocked flying, and sighed, opening his eyes._

_"ACK! YOU ARE WET, HUMAN! SANS! PLEASE ASSIST KRIS BEFORE HE MELTS!"_

_"I'm gonna_ melt _?!"_

 _"probably. i dunno." Sans got up and beckoned to the child, who was holding his shirt away from his body in obvious panic. "you go get a towel, pap, and i'll find the_ squirt _something dry to wear_. _"_

 _That got him a smile. Sans led the way to his own room, where he probably had a clean shirt somewhere. He switched the light on and selected a likely suspect from the top of the laundry pile. "here we go. survival of the_ fittest, _amirite, kiddo? heh. gimme your shirt, and we'll put it over—"_

_Kris had already pulled his shirt off. He was painfully thin compared to the other humans Sans had seen, but as the kid turned to wring the wet shirt out – all over the carpet, sigh – it wasn't his protruding ribs or spine that brought Sans up short. It was the livid pink and too-white lines criss-crossing each other in the middle and lower parts of the little human's back, with one or two errant marks near his shoulders._

_Scars. Those were scars. Someone had hurt the kid so badly that it'd messed up his skin for the rest of his life. How could—_

_Sans didn't mean to stare, but Kris looked up and caught his gaze, and the absolute worst part was that he_ smiled _, and laughed a little. "You're lucky. None of your stripes probably show."_

_"stripes?" the skeleton repeated._

_"Yeah." The child's tone was so casual that Sans' SOUL hurt. "It's okay. Mama told Cook to stop leaving so many marks."_

_Sans gestured, almost mechanically, for Kris to raise his arms. The child did so, and Sans pulled the dry shirt down over his head, tugging it down until the hem almost reached Kris' knobby knees. Then the monster did something that confused the human quite a bit: he leaned forward and put his arms around the child, resting his hand on Kris' head. "no one gets stripes around here, pal," he said into the human's fleshy ear._

_Pause. "They don't?" queried Kris._

_"nah. it's a very important monster rule: no stripes. if anyone tries to give you any more, you just send 'em to me and pap. we'll explain the rule for you." Very, very thoroughly, he thought, gritting his teeth._

_"Oh. Okay." Kris dutifully put his arms around Sans, with a slightly puzzled air. "Thanks, Sans."_

_Holy moly, did the poor kid not know how hugs worked? What the actual hell was wrong with humans? The skeleton stood up and held his hand out. "c'mon, kiddo. let's go tell pap your skin melted."_

_"Okay!" Back on familiar ground, Kris hopped up and down. "Can we tell Toriel my skin melted?"_

_"haaa ha ha ha no."_

And they'd gone back to Pap's room, and Pap had immediately bought it, and they'd snickered while he lost his mind about what Toriel was going to say and whether they could make some new skin for him out of paper. Sans had pointed out that that would make bathtime problematic, and—

And Sans had never, ever told anyone about the "stripes."

And now he was watching a beautiful young woman ease her robe all the way down to the small of her back, and there was the same pattern of scars, the same long, thin pink and white lines he'd seen on Kris twelve years ago. "It's not a trick," she said, her voice a little too calm and steady. "You can touch them if you still don't believe me."

"I believe you," he said roughly, but he couldn't help himself: a second later, Frisk jumped as his phalange grazed the spot where the most lines intersected. "Shit! Sorry. Sorry!" Sans snatched his hand away. "I...I believe ya, I swear. I just—"

"It's all right. Go ahead." She turned her head enough for him to see her attempt a smile. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

 _Liar._ Sans sat down and crossed his legs, accepting the pain where he'd hit himself. He turned his hand and very gently ran the side of his forefinger down her back, starting at the velvety, unbroken skin below her neck and across the bumpy scar tissue. Then he did what he'd seen her do too many times and wiped his eyes on his sleeve, where the red wouldn't show. "So...Kris, huh?"

"That's me." Frisk's voice cracked. She was clutching the robe against her front, so that he could only see the graceful lines of her shoulders, and the marks someone had put on the sweetest kid, the best person anyone could ever meet.

"They had to remove my memories at St. Brigid's," she continued. "My father didn't go with the delegation because his wife was about to deliver and had already been sick. She died while we were on our way to the Underground, and he started checking on all of his illegitimate children. After they made me leave with the others, I was sent to the convent to be educated, and I was a _mess_." She swallowed twice. "All I wanted was to go back to the Underground. It didn't matter how many times they told me the monsters didn't want another human down there. I wouldn't eat, I wouldn't sleep, I just kept—"

"What the _fuck_! Of course we wanted ya there!" Sans slammed his fist into the floor. "Do you have any idea how much everyone missed you?!"

"Yes! And I wanted to go back just as much!" Frisk's facade was crumbling rapidly. She hadn't pulled up her robe yet, possibly because her hands were clenched too tightly. "I didn't know if everyone was all right after the accident! No one would tell me anything!"

"No. They tore it all outta your head instead." Sans ground his eye sockets into his sleeve again. "An' ya got it back, and you've been keepin' it to yerself?"

"I'm sorry!" The pain in her voice was so raw that Sans flinched. "I'm sorry! Kris wasn't real, it was just me! And no, I didn't tell you any of this! I was so scared of what you'd say, if you'd believe me or not—"

He hadn't. He hadn't believed her. She'd had to get half naked to prove it. If Sans could have ripped his SOUL out and punched it, he would have done so right then and there. "Whaddya mean, it's 'just you'?" he demanded, rougher than he meant to.

Her head drooped, leaving a long curve of neck and shoulder that the stupider parts of him couldn't stop staring at. His instincts were starting to kick in: she was hurting, she needed him, she'd already showed him this much skin and let him touch her—

Sans' whole body twitched as another thought crashed in: the fortune. Her second fortune.

_The pain of that sorrow and regret will be unbearable for a time, and they will not be yours alone._

But the rest of it, the joy and power, and a child—

Frisk buried her face in her hands, shaking her head harder and harder. "I have to go back, Sans. I _have_ to! _Please_ , Sans, take me home with you! I just want to go home! Please—"

Sans didn't think, he acted. Frisk gasped as he turned her around and opened his overcoat to sweep her under it before he put his arms around her, holding her as tight as he dared. "Okay," he said, swiping at his eyes again. "Okay, kitten. I'll take you with me. We'll both go, and we'll tell everyone you're back." After all, the monsters – especially the King – would never accept the humans' High Priestess trying to cozy up to them, but they just might listen to Kris, especially when she was returning Sans to them safe, bringing food and gifts. They wouldn't let Asgore hurt her.

That was the difference in her fortunes. The other humans had done too good a job of erasing "Kris" and turning Frisk into the ideal High Priestess. If she hadn't been brave enough to remember everything—

This wasn't fair! He already loved her so much, and now this? What was he supposed to do?

Right now, he just held her as she buried her face in his new shirt and gave vent to huge, racking, wailing sobs, finally letting out years of grief. He allowed her to cry until she started hiccuping, and then he started petting her hair and just a little down her neck and shoulders, nothing objectionable—all he needed to do to quash his sex drive was think of Kris smiling ruefully about his "stripes." The bones of his face itched where the red kept trickling down, but the sky could have started falling, and he wouldn't have moved before she was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I songficced a My Little Pony fan song completely out of context. Fight me


	12. To the Underground

_She had never been so tall before! She could see the top of everyone’s_ _heads! “Look at me!” she crowed as the others came in the door._

_“Hello, dear,” King Asgore said sheepishly as Toriel froze on the threshold, arms full of groceries. “Er…do you need any help?”_

_Frisk was standing on the King’s shoulders, clinging to his horns. “Asgoooooore,” his wife intoned, starting low and sliding up to a very warning note._

_“Yes, dearest?” He beamed at her. “Do you like my new hat?”_

_Asriel laughed, taking the sacks from his mother’s arms to set them on the table. “I remember doing that when we were little,” he remarked._

_“And I remember how your father turned his head too fast and nearly took your eye out,” retorted the Queen._

_Frisk gripped the horns a little tighter, hoping Toriel wasn’t going to make_ _her get down. “Oh, it’s fine, pumpkin,” Asgore said. Nevertheless, he tapped the human’s shoe. “Perhaps you could sit down, child. It may be—”_

_The moment Frisk moved her foot, it slipped. Down she went—_

_—into the King’s arms as he caught her, swung her around in a wide arc, and hitched her up to sit on his shoulder. “Ta-daaa!” he boomed over the child’s shrieking laughter. “You see, Tori? No problem whatsoever!”_

_Toriel’s face was such a picture that Asriel gave a quiet “Pfffft” and had to hurry out of the room under her glare. “Of course not,” she said tartly. “You do realize we have to give him back in one piece, don’t you, sweetie pie?” Ignoring their complaints, the Queen reached up to set Frisk on the floor. “Now, Gorey, you put these things away, and I will put Kris to bed. Say good night, my child.”_

_“G’night, Your Majesty,” the human said forlornly._

_“Good night, little one.” Asgore’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. “Sleep well.”_

_Frisk trotted to the bedroom ahead of Toriel, bouncing a little. Even if it was bedtime, this was the best thing that had ever happened: not only did she get to spend the night here, the other humans wanted the monsters to keep thinking she was a boy, so they’d asked Toriel not to give her a bath. It was just pie, playtime, and a bed all to herself! Why couldn’t Asgore and Toriel be her real parents? Why couldn’t—_

The bedroom door opened, and the dream suddenly changed. This was the right room, but it was cold and smelled dusty, as if it’d been abandoned for a long time. Asgore was standing in the middle of it, huge and silent, shoulders bowed; the King seemed older, angrier, his features drawn tight with grief. He looked up at her as if she was a stranger. His eyes shifted downward, and narrowed.

The priestess raised her hands as he gripped his trident. “Your Majesty, wait,” she tried to say, but he was slashing at her and—

~

Frisk woke up in her own bedroom. Muzzy with sleep, she had no idea why her blanket was so huge, or heavy, or why it smelled like leather. No matter: it felt so safe that the fear ebbed away as she lay buried in its folds, and so comfortable that she turned over and nearly went back to sleep.

The door was ajar. Smells crept in, and voices, but mostly smells. Her stomach growled, and Frisk reluctantly had to struggle her way out of the—coat? It was Sans’ new overcoat, wrapped around her several times, more like a tarp than a blanket. Her head was almost a foot away from the nearest opening, and she didn’t even know where the foot of it was. She slithered up through the neck, played with the fur around the collar for a moment, then adjusted her robe and climbed out of bed.

The voices turned out to be Sans, who was drying his face with a napkin, and Dr. Gaster, who was seated at the table in his own form, almost as eerie by daylight as he had been in her barrier’s glow. “Good morning, Your Eminence,” he said serenely.

“Good morning, Doctor,” she responded in kind. “If you’ll excuse me a moment…”

“Of course.” The monster sipped his coffee as she went to her dressing room and mostly shut the door.

Sans was tapping his phalanges on the tabletop. “So, it looks like we’re—” He broke off, looking from the undisguised skeleton to the dressing room. “Wait. What the crap?”

“The lady and I became more intimately acquainted in your absence,” said Gaster.

“Doctor,” Frisk called warningly.

Gaster chuckled. “Forgive me, my lady. I couldn’t resist. What I mean,” he said to Sans, who was fully bristling, “is that she caught me trying to steal her box the first night you were away. She trapped me until I explained myself, and I learned that when an angry High Priestess puts you inside a barrier, none of your magic is effective, especially not a human disguise.”

“You did _what_?!” Sans’ fist came within millimeters of the tabletop, but the dressing-room door opened, and he stopped exactly in time. He gave the table a little pat instead, dropping his hand into his lap as Frisk came to sit next to him. “Ya broke in here while I was gone?” he demanded.

“He did indeed.” Frisk glared at the doctor for a moment, then turned her attention to breakfast. “What has Sans told you, Dr. Gaster?”

“I explained our deal to him, and he has related a remarkable story about your trip to the Underground as a child.” Gaster drained his coffee and set it on a tray. “Please forgive me, but I must know: do you recall anything about the day of the accident?”

Sans sat up straighter. It obviously hadn’t occurred to him to ask her that yet; she didn’t blame him, after all the emotional turmoil of the previous night, and she couldn’t blame him for waiting so intently for her answer.

But she was finding it a little difficult to focus. It was finally sinking in that she had told Sans everything, that he knew she was Kris and had agreed to take her to the Underground. She’d really get to see everyone again, and she could talk to Asgore as an old friend; maybe the jolly King she’d known as a little girl was still in there somewhere, ready to be brought back…

Frisk finished chewing and swallowed as both skeletons waited for her response. She had to remind herself that Gaster had only agreed to help her mislead everyone – including Sans – in exchange for information, and that it was a very valid question. “I don’t know what happened, no,” she said slowly, to their disappointment. “I remember getting permission to go to Chara’s performance with Sans and Papyrus, and I know I was supposed to do something, but that was it. The next thing I knew, I was in a stagecoach, and Rosa was telling me I’d be going to school.”

Sans’ brows rose a little, and Gaster said, “A pity, but understandable. Many people who survived the event have little to no memory of it, given the amount and violence of the magic involved. Sans tells me you were brought along in the first place as a sort of test?”

Frisk made a face. “I was told that monsters were unpredictable and we needed to know how they’d behave under different circumstances, including whether they’d treat a child as well as a human would. They made me pretend to be a boy ‘for safety.’”

“Yeah, like humans treated you that fuckin’ well,” Sans muttered, ignoring Gaster’s not-very-hard smack on the head.

The High Priestess took as dignified a bite of sausage as she could. “I always had a feeling that my missing memories were linked to the Underground,” she said around it, “and now I know it for a fact. I have a more solid connection with monsters than any other human alive. If I were to go with Sans to reestablish diplomatic relations, Asgore might just hear me out. When I was there as Kris…” She swallowed around a lump in her throat. “He and Asriel played with me for hours.” Thinking of Asriel hurt too much. Frisk said, just to be saying something else, “I know he’s changed, and so have I, but...”

“Nah, ya haven’t,” Sans mumbled, making her go bright red.

Gaster glanced back and forth between them, but merely said, “Persuading King Stephin to allow it may be difficult. The last time he and King Asgore spoke, it was not on the most amiable terms.”

“So I hear.” Frisk pressed her lips together. “We need to convince him, and everyone else, that it’s necessary. Based on Sans’ knowledge of solar arrays and your own work, Doctor, how soon could you make a prototype to demonstrate to the public?”

“It depends how large and how strong a model you’d require,” admitted the doctor. “Is speed more important, or impressiveness?”

“I’d like something before we leave, please, even if it’s only large enough to power a witchlight. Now that Sans has been here for two weeks without incident, people are starting to get curious, and let’s be honest: if we can get people used to you, Sans, they can get used to any monster.” Frisk poured herself more milk. “We need to pair that with the idea that we don’t have to steal magic anymore, and it will help immensely if everyone is talking about solar power while we’re gone.”

The boss monster shrugged agreement. The priestess toyed with a fork, steeling herself. “Another thing. This sounds exploitative, but I’ve had copies made of the reports on each monster confiscated the other night. I sent them to as many different administrative offices as I could think of. Each report had my confidential seal on it, so I’m sure people have read them. I want to see if anyone is talking about it.”

The men were quiet. Sans was clearly displeased, but he was listening. “Believe me, I hate to use their suffering as a political prop. I really do,” she said, half stern and half apologetic. “But as things stand, monsters being enslaved is a fact of life to the average human. We can’t let it be an abstract concept anymore. Most people don’t know the kind of conditions monsters are kept in, and the time is right to make them _care_ about it.”

Gaster inclined his head, and they both looked at Sans. He took such a long, deep breath that Frisk wondered how there was any air left in the room afterward. “Ya really think so?” He glanced at the royal sorcerer. “You know humans pretty well. There’s no other way ta do this?”

“Nothing as effective, long-lasting, or nonviolent, no.” Gaster leaned his head on his hand, and the extras with the pen and notepad materialized, scribbling away. Frisk wished he wouldn’t do that. “Humans do not like change, or being inconvenienced, and they cannot stand to be told they are wrong,” explained the doctor, “especially when presented with clear evidence that they have been wrong for a very long time. Letting them pretend that this is a new issue they can feel strongly about without having to do much of anything themselves…I’m afraid it is the ideal path to social change.”

“Wow. Humans suck,” Sans observed. He glanced at Frisk, who couldn’t hide her apprehension. “Don’t gimme that look, kiddo. If you ‘n the doc say it’s the best way to get monsters free, I’m not gonna fight ya.”

“Thank you,” she said simply, and his answering grumble was much quieter than usual.

“The second fortune,” Gaster mused, and they both looked askance at him. He gave her a rare smile. “You’ve chosen to set monsters free. You will have to work very hard, my dear lady, but your life will be quite interesting. May I ask how you are feeling?”

Frisk thought of Asriel again, of being taken from the Underground. She rubbed her forehead as Sans glared at the other skeleton. “It hurts very much, Doctor,” she said quietly. “I’m not going to lie. But…” She gave him a watery smile. “Once I get through this, I’ll have the other things, too, the joy and love.” Something occurred to her, and she smiled wider this time. “And my ‘innumerable’ family. I hope the monsters will fit that description.”

“Damn straight,” commented Sans, which made her flush again.

Gaster nodded, and she was almost _certain_ that he waited for her to take a sip of milk before he asked, “Have you selected a father for your child?”

The priestess choked mid-swallow and had to push away from the table to double over, coughing, while Sans checked her for immediate danger and then snarled at Gaster, “What the hell kinda thing is that ta ask a lady, y’old perv?!”

“What indeed.” The royal sorcerer folded all of his hands, looking back and forth between the red-faced sorceress and the redder-faced skeleton. “Forgive my impertinence. I’m sure it will happen quite naturally. For now, Your Eminence, you need only concern yourself with your apprenticeship, and with furthering the cause of monster freedom.”

Frisk climbed to her feet, waving away Sans’ offer of assistance. “One moment,” she croaked. She would have loved to know what exactly he was saying to Gaster as the bathroom door closed behind her, but it was all she could do to breathe normally. What did the doctor think he was doing, besides embarrassing her and Sans most of the way to death?

~

“Whaddya think yer doin’?!” Sans leaned forward, but had to sit back as Gaster’s extra hands reappeared, wagging their fingers in sync. “What happened to not interferin’? It’s none’a yer damn business what she does!”

“I am acting purely to further Her Eminence’s goal of peace between the human and monster races,” Gaster lied with his stupid lying face. At least, that was what it looked like to Sans. “However strict a schedule she may be on to fulfill her maternal destiny, it would not behoove her to be encumbered too soon. You have thirteen days left of your tenure here, during which she will want to accomplish as much as possible, and after which you will hopefully be able to escort her to the Underground for a successful diplomatic mission.”

“I know that.” Sans rubbed the back of his skull. The workroom floor hadn’t been that comfortable, but it hadn’t exactly been a comfortable night, so whatever. “That doesn’t give you any right to bug her about somethin’ so personal,” he snapped.

Gaster sighed, laced his all fingers together, and pushed them outward to crack every joint at once, making the boss monster twitch. “Enough beating around the bush, Sans. Frisk is not the sort of woman who forms intimate attachments quickly or easily, and out of the very many men who would be glad to have her, she has not found one who suits her. Even without the timeline imposed by her fortune, based on what I have seen and heard, you are by far the likeliest—”

_Wham._

Sans did not dent the table this time. He nearly broke it in half.

Gaster blinked at the crater in the wood surface as its dust settled. “I thought you would be at least somewhat ambivalent by this point,” the doctor remarked, and raised his voice as the bathroom door creaked: “Please give us another moment, my lady.”

The door closed. Sans flexed his hand, ignoring the splinters and bits of shattered china lodged in his metacarpals. “I was up all night thinkin’ about it,” he growled. “Doesn’t really matter how I feel, does it? Facts are facts. ’m three or four times bigger’n her, I’m a boss monster, an’ even if I never touched her, I’d ruin ‘er whole life. What would the other humans say? Ya think they’d ever listen to her again if they thought she was screwin’ around with a magic skeleton?” Snort. “Even if we could do it, ’m still basically poison. Ya know exactly what I mean.” He peeled a long curl of wood from the table’s surface. “This is all assumin’ she’d be okay with me in the first place. I mean…look at me.”

Gaster peered at Sans’ SOUL, and his expression said it all. “The darkness intertwined with your magic could potentially be damaging,” he conceded. “As we discussed, you need to decide whether it’s worth holding on to the anger dragging you down, for your sake and hers.”

“Who says I’m holdin’ on to anythin’? ‘s more like bein’ stuck in a tar pit. She’s helped me get my head out, ‘n that’s about it.” Sans jerked his thumb at the table. “Be honest. Would _you_ wanna have a kid with someone who does stuff like this?”

The older skeleton was silent. Sans waited, half hoping he would say something witty or insightful that would solve everything, but Gaster just shook his head. “That’s what I thought. Time fer you to go,” said the boss monster.

The royal sorcerer grimaced. “Sans, please. Are you even going to try?”

The table itself started shaking, a film of red creeping over the books and dishes. Dr. Gaster stood and tugged on the chain to become human, then strode out of the room and slammed the doors behind him without another word.

Sans glared at the table. It was pretty damn broken, all right. _Good job, asshole,_ he congratulated himself. How was Frisk going to get anything done now?

…Welp. He’d repaired the table before, hadn’t he? Why not try it again? Might as well prove to himself that he could do better for her sake, or prove to the doctor that he couldn’t—either way, he had to give it a shot.

The boss monster took a deep breath, imagined the broken wood and china all coming back together as they’d been, and flicked his left hand. His magic slowly lifted the table, pushing from beneath till its overall surface was mostly sort of level again, then straightened out the legs and settled it back to the floor.

So far, so good. Next, he smoothed the jagged, splintered ends jutting out of the crater into a nearly unbroken surface, separating the smaller pieces of wood from the broken china. With a supreme effort, he directed the wood to fill in the remaining gaps, and imagined the china re-forming into plates and cups.

To his elation, there was a flurry of movement, leaving the wooden surface scarred but whole and the dishes looking like dishes again…which, as he released the spell, tumbled apart into broken heaps, the wood poofing back out where it’d started.

He scowled and gestured again, but the same thing happened again, and again: the stuff mashed together well enough, but wouldn’t stay that way. God damn it, why wasn’t it working? Was he trying to do too much at once? No, that wasn’t the problem; he had more than enough power, and he was focusing properly. He was using the exact same magic as before, and he sure as hell intended it to work, so…did he need to get madder at himself for ruining her workspace? Or…

Sans thought it over, then got off his stool and went to rap on the bathroom door. “C’mon out, kitten,” he said. “I need a favor.”

Frisk emerged as he backed up and sat down facing the broken table. She looked at the wreckage, then at him. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“I will be in a sec. C’mere.” He extended an arm.

She was a little doubtful, but came to him readily and let him tuck her against his ribcage. “Um,” she said into his wrinkled shirt.

He stroked her hair with one phalange, focusing on her warmth, and her smell – which now included a hint of leather from his coat – and how big a pain in the ass it’d be if she had to replace the table. She was busy enough, she didn’t need this crap! Besides, what would his past self say if he knew he’d screwed things up for Kris?

Frisk turned to see what he was doing, absently twining her fingers around one of his, and Sans suddenly knew exactly what to do. There was a boom and a crackling like wood being broken, but in reverse: her mouth hung open as the cloud of red magic dispersed, leaving the table in nearly the same shape as before, perhaps a little bent in the middle. The breakfast dishes were intact, though they looked as if someone had glued them back together in a hurry. “Ha! There we go,” Sans said triumphantly. “Good as…used. Not bad, eh?”

The priestess leaned back against his clavicle. “I suppose it’s the next best thing to not breaking it in the first place,” she murmured.

Ouch. And speaking of which… He grimaced. “Hey. Frisk?”

“Hm?” She was still holding the lowest phalange of his right forefinger, examining the relatively-smaller bones of his hand.

As always, Sans scanned her face for signs of distaste or nervousness. He never could find any, or understand why not. “Uh. I’m…’m sorry I didn’t believe you. Ya shouldn’a had to show me all that.” The boss monster played with one of her wavier locks of hair. He liked it better when she didn’t put any stuff on to straighten it. “’m sorry you spent all that time scared ta talk about it.” He exhaled, ruffling her hair. “’m sorry you were right t’be scared.”

Frisk let go of his hand. She didn’t say anything, just laid her head on his clavicle, face turned from his.

Sans sighed, and dropped his arm. “Yeah. So,” he mumbled.

She shrugged, so slight a motion that he could barely feel it. He was about to reach for her again when she stepped away. “It’s all right.” Frisk went to the repaired table and stacked up the partly-broken dishes. “I don’t know if I would believe me, either,” she said over her shoulder.

He couldn’t think of anything else to say. The silence felt…complicated. “So,” he said. “What’re we doin’ today? Ya want people ta not be scared of me. Should we go rescue kittens outta trees, maybe bring some orphans candy or somethin’?”

Frisk paused, as if shaking herself, and suddenly smiled, in a way that made him nervous. “Now that you mention it—”

It was thus his own fault that, within ten minutes, Sans found himself accompanying her back into the castle town. On their recent excursions, Sans had been using his disguise, and Frisk dressed as plainly as possible, keeping her hood up; this time, not only was she in her High Priestess gown – though she’d omitted the headdress in favor of her red-lined cloak – Sans stayed beside her as his own giant self. As far as he was concerned, the only problem was that she insisted on walking the whole way in order to be visible and gauge people’s reactions. Oh, well. At least they matched again.

Their destination today was the group home where Frisk had stayed as a very small girl. It was a long walk to the poorer part of town, but the visit itself was brief enough; they were admitted in the middle of the children’s morning break, so they had a head start to the long dining-room table before someone spotted the bakery boxes they’d picked up on their way over. Sans ended up having to lift Frisk the rest of the way before she was lost under a surging tide of greedy little hands.

Of course, the magic demonstration turned out to be the ideal icebreaker. To his disgruntlement, Sans was conscripted to make toys fly around – though he drew the line at the actual children begging to be flung across the room – while Frisk distributed the pastries they’d brought and the boss monster contemplated his life choices. He’d enjoyed playing with Kris back in the day, but he never signed up to perform for a bunch of literally snot-nosed brats!

But he had to admit that it was working: after a few minutes, only the most timid children were still hanging back, and by the time the priestess was done telling them about the different kinds of monsters she knew, almost all of the kids had crept up for a closer look. He contented himself with the fact that Frisk seemed pretty happy, though he wasn’t a big fan of how many kids were coughing on her.

In fact, some of them got a little too comfortable with him, and Frisk had to cut the visit short when they started crawling into his huge slippers and lifting his shirt to poke between his ribs. The priestess and boss monster waded out amid cries of disappointment, closing the door with some difficulty.

“Damn, that was intense,” said Sans on their walk back to the castle. “So, ya lived there till you were…?”

“Eight. Then Rosa found a job for me in the castle kitchens scrubbing pots. I’ve had better experiences.”

He thought again of Kris’ scars and protruding ribs. “Permission to go up there ‘n bust some heads?”

“Denied,” she said. “I started collecting affidavits about the old cook the moment I came back here as High Priestess, and she’s been in jail for over two years now. She won’t get out for a good while.”

Sans still would’ve liked to find the bitch and see how _she_ liked someone bigger hurting her, but it probably wasn’t something Frisk would want to hear. Instead, he asked, “D’you always call yer mom by ‘er first name?”

Frisk returned a passerby’s smile and nod, and said, “I often have because I wasn’t very attached to her, and it turns out I was right. Rosa isn’t my mother.”

The boss monster nearly stopped in the middle of the busy street. “Say _what_?”

“I found out around the time I went to the Underground, so I forgot it along with everything else. It’s a long story, but the short version is that I was put in Rosa’s care when I was a baby, and she pawned me off wherever she could until my father stepped in.” Frisk smoothed her hair behind her ears as the wind whistled around them. “Rosa did check in on me periodically to be sure I was alive, which is more than I could say for anyone else before I met you all.”

Sans had to jam his hands in his pockets to keep from hugging her right there. “So…”

“My real mother is dead. I’ll tell you more later.” To his surprise, Frisk fell in step beside him and reached up, and he obligingly leaned down for her to take his elbow. He thought of Kris again as she smiled up at him. “Let’s go back now. We have a lot of work to do.”

~

Sans did not forget about that conversation, but he never quite managed to bring it up again: they were so busy preparing for the trip Underground that, before he knew it, only ten days remained of his visit.

For one thing, three of the mixtures he had formulated were not working much better than the control she’d set up, but one was doing well, and another was so promising that Frisk ordered more of its components and some additional seedlings. He had finalized his list of food items to bring back with them and eventually persuaded the priestess to stop buying more gifts, after the final two novels in a series Alphys had been reading and a set of children’s puzzles for Papyrus.

They didn’t really discuss what had happened the other night, but they were comfortable around each other again. At her request, they had resumed their “slumber parties,” trading jokes later into the night than they probably should have and falling asleep on opposite sides of the huge bed. Sans found he could now keep himself in check by thinking of Kris: though most of his feelings were as strong as ever, or stronger, it felt a little creepy to lust after her, which was…better, he guessed.

It also helped, in a weird way, that she tended to be upset after whatever dreams she’d been having of the Underground. Two of the past three mornings, he’d woken up with her curled up in her blanket against his side, and his SOUL had damn near melted.

Her sudden proximity could have been a problem, but on close self-examination, Sans found he’d rather punch himself in the spectral junk than take advantage of her emotional vulnerability. That was a huge relief; it meant he could turn and drape his arm over her or pet her hair in fairly good conscience. A little part of him knew that this probably wouldn’t last forever, and he’d be back in trouble once Frisk finished working through everything, but, eh. That was a later problem. Right now, things were almost perfect, and he wasn’t going to ruin it.

…Was it his imagination being mushy, or did his SOUL feel a little lighter? He never could remember to have Gaster check for him when the doctor was there.

That morning, on his tenth-to-last day in the castle, Sans didn’t wear his device when he accompanied her to matins. He’d stopped using it entirely on their trips into town or walks around the castle. Frisk used the cold as an excuse to wear her cloak outside instead of the circlet or veil; as she’d predicted, people were now curious enough to stop to speak with her and gawk at the ten-foot skeleton. Though they got their fair share of fearful whispers and angry looks, no one had the courage to say anything with Sans right there, which was good enough for Frisk.

The boss monster understood what she was doing, and tried to behave himself on these social forays, but he hated every second of it. Frisk had a knack for keeping an eye on him and walking away when he started getting agitated by too many stares or stupid questions, but he hated that she had to worry about him hating it. More than ever, he wished she’d found a smaller, cuter monster to show off.

It was also strange that, in spite of her increased accessibility, there had been no signs of anyone else plotting anything, much less attacking her. Frisk checked in regularly with the palace guards, who still hadn’t found whoever generated that huge burst of magic at the All Souls service; anyone clever enough to have planned the operation had obviously been capable of covering their tracks, a prospect that didn’t sit well with either of them.

There was, however, a single incident that nearly made it all worthwhile: one day, an elderly woman came up to tug on Sans’ trousers as they stood outside a bookstore. When he glanced down, the lady demanded up at him, “What time is it?”

Sans looked at Frisk, and at the equally nonplussed bystanders. Luckily, far over the humans’ heads, he could see a clock in the distance. “Uh…couple minutes after noon.”

The old lady frowned and nodded, as though a great truth had been revealed unto her. “I see. Yes, thank you.” She hobbled back the way she’d came, and they heard her say to no one in particular, “What a nice skeleton.”

For some reason, the way she said it was so funny that he instinctively caught Frisk’s eye and found she was trying to suppress a grin. When she motioned for him to follow her, they made it as far as a little side street before she started giggling, flapping her hand for him to take them back. It was time for lunch, but more importantly, it was time to sit down in the stairwell outside her rooms and howl with laughter for no reason that either could have explained to anyone else, except perhaps that each of them had been tense and ready to laugh at almost anything, and was glad that the other was laughing too.

As usual, every time he started to recover, she _snrrk_ ed and got him going again. When the priestess had almost caught her breath, Sans retaliated with “What a _nice_ skeleton” in his best old-lady voice and nearly killed her.

Unfortunately, it was the only bright spot in several days of not much fun. At least they were productive, especially her tactic of “accidentally” leaking the confiscation reports; on their afternoon walks, several of the people stopping them to chat specifically wanted to know if the terrible things they had heard were true, and what would happen to the monsters in question.

Frisk hid her elation that people did care enough to ask her about it, and developed a rote response that it was true, and terrible, and she would push for harsher punishments of mistreated monsters. That was when she also mentioned that the illustrious Dr. Serif was working on an alternative source of magic, and when it was perfected, monsters could be freed entirely.

That statement always got a reaction, and she was almost relieved when one person finally came right out and said, “How on earth are we supposed to get that much magic without them?” It gave her the chance to explain how the Underground used the sun’s light to generate power, and when the man smirked at such a ridiculous lie, the High Priestess had to step on Sans’ foot to keep him in check; Frisk was irritated enough herself to tell the man and the rest of their impromptu audience that Dr. Serif had been working with her emissary to prepare a public demonstration next week.

“That sounds neat. You should probably tell the doc about it,” Sans grumbled as the little crowd dispersed to spread the news.

Frisk did indeed have some explaining to do. The upper classes of the court and Church were not supposed to care about idle gossip, but by the afternoon of the following day, after their studies were done, she found she was not only obligated to lend Sans to Dr. Serif and the other sorcerers to go over their plans, but “invited” to chat with the King before dinner.

By that point, Frisk was not in the mood to dress things up. “I’m going to free the monsters we took from their owners,” she told King Stephin behind a soundproof barrier. “I will hire guards if I have to, and send Sans along regardless, but as soon as they’ve recovered enough to travel, they are going back to the Underground to stay. His Holiness can double the deposits, or jail me, for all I care. Those monsters have suffered enough.”

“My dear, that is not going to work,” the King said, just as bluntly. “Every owner in this kingdom will fear that you are plotting to take their property from them, and like it or not, monsters are still classified as such.”

“I am ‘plotting’ exactly that, Your Majesty. I’ll do it safely, peacefully, and legally, but I will do it.” When the old man looked ready to argue, she added, “I’ve learned a great deal recently about a boy named Kris who became attached to several monsters on the last visit to the Underground. A _very great_ deal, and it’s had quite an impact on me. Do you understand, Majesty?”

The King of the human realm regarded her for almost ten full seconds. Frisk would sooner have carved her eyes out than look away first, and he eventually sighed a long, long sigh. “You wish to return, then?”

“I am going to the Underground with Sans in nine days, Your Majesty,” she informed him, “and I would much rather have your permission than not. If all goes well, I intend to stay for five to ten days before I return here.”

He gave her a sharp appraisal that she didn’t understand till he said, “Will that be enough time to prepare your apprentice to serve the Underground single-handed?”

Frisk had long since made up her mind how to “prepare” her apprentice, but she had no intention to discuss it with the King yet. “I believe so,” she replied.

He closed his eyes. “Have you heard recently from Lord Owen and his lady sister?” he asked, much too casually.

“Yes, sire,” she said calmly. “They will both be here for a visit in roughly three weeks.”

“Wonderful.” He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “I am glad you’ve made up your mind regarding these matters. May I ask—”

The High Priestess had been resisting the urge to cough for over an hour, and so it wasn’t really dishonest to interrupt him that way. The problem was that once she started, she couldn’t stop, and had to accept his injunction to go back to her rooms.

“I knew it” was the first thing out of Sans’ mouth when he got back. She was in bed, in her nightgown and robe, huddled under the covers with the fireplace lit. “Told ya those little pukes were gonna get ya sick.”

Frisk gave him the stink-eye, coughing for emphasis. His expression softened at the sound. “Okay, okay. Can I getcha anythin’?”

“Sleep,” she croaked.

Sans couldn’t do that, but he could and did tell the guards that Her Eminence needed to be left alone because she’d caught some kind of crud. When he went back into the bedroom, she was already dozing. Good—maybe she’d be having better dreams soon.

~

One week left.

Frisk had slept through the previous day – guarded from interruption by her massive apprentice – and part of this one, waking up to eat dinner in bed. Afterward, she was busy catching up on mail, including a reply from the Owens’ land broker.

As High Priestess, her wealth was such that the broker was happy to offer her only ten percent down, with interest much higher than Frisk intended to pay. The priestess had to write three replies for that one: an answer referring the broker to the real estate agent who would negotiate the rest of the transaction on her behalf, a letter informing her agent that he was about to get a _very_ large commission, and a note to Lord Owen updating him on the whole business and greeting his family. She might be planning to reject him in the most overt way possible and embarrass him in front of the entire kingdom, but that was no reason to be impolite, was it?

Sans was stretched out on the other side of the bed, eyes closed. It was easier to let him stay there than trying to make him work and having him stick his head in the door every ten minutes to fret about whether she was still alive. “Tell me again why ya won’t get a secretary,” he said as she massaged her hand.

“I told you, I don’t trust anyone with all this.” Frisk patted the mattress between them, which was his cue to wriggle a finger and waft her cup of tea over from the side table. She took a sip, murmured her thanks, and let him put it back without opening his eyes. “I wish I could do that,” she remarked, putting the three envelopes aside. “There we are. I’m feeling much better, Sans. Will you _please_ let me get up now?”

Several minutes of negotiation later, with the massive skeleton hovering as though she was seventy years old, Frisk was out in the workroom to check the seedlings’ progress. “This is amazing,” she said, looking over the three tiny plants growing from his latest mixture. “If you keep this up, we could think about converting some of your existing cropland to pasture and eventually getting some sheep. You could probably also use some chickens, couldn’t you?”

“Yeah, we ate all ours a few years back. Tori would love to have some more,” Sans remarked. “Meat, eggs, and somethin’ ta fuss over.”

Frisk smiled a little. She’d avoided asking too many questions about her old friends, as it was clear the news was largely not good. She glanced around, and Sans proffered her tea, unasked. “You know…” This took some courage, but it was such an obvious thing, and they hadn’t discussed it: “We don’t have to leave in exactly seven more days.” She checked her calendar. “It’ll be four more days till they demonstrate your prototype. I’d like to be there for that, and I haven’t had a chance to talk with His Majesty again, and I’d like to have a letter from him or something official to give to Asgore so he doesn’t have to take my word for—”

Sans chuckled. That rumbling sound had always raised the hairs on the back of her neck, but lately, it did it in a _good_ way. “Stop babblin’, kitten. D’ya want me ta stay longer?”

Her hands trembled as she set the cup down. “If…” The priestess swallowed. “If we leave a couple of days sooner, I could stay in the Underground longer, assuming everyone would be all right with it.”

The skeleton scowled at her. “Why the crap wouldn’t they be? Are ya scared they’ll be like, ‘Yeah, we loved you as a kid, now go to hell?’”

Frisk’s fidgety silence said it all. Sans drew a deep breath, but saw her flinch, and released it slowly. “Okay,” he said, as calmly as he could. “I know ya haven’t had a lotta luck with people, but this’s different. I’m not sayin’ there won’t be any problems with anyone, ‘specially the ones who didn’t know ya that well. Some of us might be dicks about it an’ not believe ya right at first. But…” He also fidgeted, various colors sweeping over his skull. “Ya look different, ‘n that’s it. We all liked ya ‘cause you’re…you. Hasn’t changed.” Fidget. Scowl. “If anyone tells ya to get lost, I’ll—” He caught her expression and said with fake cheer, “—give them a biiiig hug and tell ‘em ta be nice.”

“Excellent. Thank you.” Frisk took his hand, or at least a couple of his fingers. “Really, thank you,” she said, softer. “I hope you’re right.”

His fingers closed around hers. The bones were always warmer than she expected, no matter how many times she touched them. “Let’s try this,” he said quietly. “Take off the barrier when we go t’sleep and lemme see if I can reach Papyrus. It might work better to have him spread the word first that Kris is comin’ back with Sans in a few days, as opposed t’just showin’ up as a total surprise.”

The priestess couldn’t help smiling self-consciously. “I’d like to surprise everyone,” she confessed, and he chuckled again. “But I know it might not be the best option. Honestly, it depends how everyone there is feeling about humans after Snowdrake returned safely.”

“Yeah…traumatized an’ thinkin’ someone workin’ for ya was strong enough ta steal _my_ magic,” said the skeleton. He squeezed her hand very gently and let go. “But he might also have spread the word that yer the one who set ‘im loose. We’ve gotta talk to Pap ‘n find out.”

Frisk thought about it, and the prospect of removing the barrier did not appeal to her whatsoever. The demon-child hadn’t showed up again for either of them, even when she’d left the barrier down and Sans had spent two nights outside it; she knew better than to assume it had gone away entirely, so where was it?

…But it did make sense to try to contact Papyrus, and she didn’t have any better ideas. “All right,” she said, and coughed into the bend of her elbow. “I’m going to take it down now and get back to sleep. Will you be in soon?”

“Sure.” Sans gave her a little salute. “Night, kitten. Get better so I don’t hafta listen to yer hackin’ anymore.”

That nickname should’ve annoyed her, but Frisk liked it better each time. The inner glow lasted until she was in bed and had to remove the barrier, which she found she did _not_ want to do. Maybe it would be all right; maybe the child was busy wreaking havoc somewhere else tonight and wouldn’t check her room? It…could be all right. There was only one way to find out, she told herself, not believing a word of it.

~

_It was the same dream as before, but more intense: her husband crept into bed and tricked her into turning over so that he could roll her onto her back and slip his hands under her nightshirt. When she tried to mumble in self-defense, his mouth was suddenly against her lips; he tangled his fingers through hers, his slight weight pressing her into the mattress as he pulled the nightshirt up over her ribs._

_A tiny pause, waiting to see if she’d stop him. She sighed, then relaxed as his head dipped to lick her neck, fingers winding in her hair to pull her chin up and nip at her throat. His other hand trailed down her side to her hip; he made an approving noise as he encountered bare skin._

_Her underwear was missing solely because she’d forgotten to put a second load in the dryer that afternoon, but she wasn’t going to tell him that, especially now that his mouth had moved up to her cheek, then back to her lips. Her arms circled his shoulders as he began to kiss her in earnest, their teeth clicking gently, though he always led with his tongue to avoid biting her._

_She’d long since stopped thinking about how weird it was to make out with a skeleton, and she never got tired of his bones’ smooth texture against her skin, or of feeling him shudder as she ran her hands over his skull. He pulled his head away, panting, and sat up to move his shorts aside—she’d told him several times to just leave them off in bed, but he was still curiously shy about letting her see him without clothes, especially when he had what they called his “extras” out._

_Usually, by this point, he would have attended to her for a few minutes – or more! – to be sure she was ready, but this time, he clearly couldn’t wait. Well, that was fine. She was more than happy to let him hook his forearms under her knees and lean forward; he wasn’t that much shorter than she was, but it was the best way to—_

~

Something was wrong, something much worse than sexual frustration or an intruder in her office.

She was still dreaming, but in a too-real way that she instantly recognized. Frisk was back in the castle, standing beside the huge bed, with her own Sans sitting squarely in the middle of the mattress; his head was in his hands, his whole body hunched up and shaking. Frisk tried to ask him what was wrong, but the words died as she spotted the thing standing over him—it was the child, the demon from the other world.

The child didn’t have its knife out, but it didn’t need to. It was smiling in vile satisfaction as Sans’ shoulders shook. Her stomach clenched as she saw red droplets trickling over the bones of his hands and wrists. “What did you do to him?” Frisk snarled. The air surged as she raised a hand, golden sparks flying. “Get out of here before I put a barrier around this whole damned kingdom! You know I could!”

The child stopped smiling and looked at her. For the first time, it spoke: “Ask him what he could do to _you_.”

Its voice felt like a nail being dragged down her eardrum. Sans must have heard it, too, because he curled in on himself harder, and Frisk’s heart broke into a few more pieces. That little—why wouldn’t it leave him alone?!

Frisk gathered all of her willpower and gave a sharp, high whistle, snapping the barrier back into place and jerking herself and Sans awake. She sat bolt upright and glanced around in the dimness, throat itching and adrenaline pumping, only to see that it was early morning and the child was gone.

The priestess coughed. With a sigh of relief, she climbed over the foot of the bed to tap the witchlight on, then turned to say, “Are you all right, S—”

 _Dear Lord._ Frisk had assumed the blood was part of Sans’ nightmare, but to her horror, he was sitting up again and staring down at his hands, which were absolutely coated in dark, slick red. Fresh crimson drops were still sliding down his face, splashing onto his metacarpals and dripping through the gaps to soak into the mattress. “Sans!” she cried. The priestess gathered up her robe and leapt onto the bed, kneeling beside him. “What in God’s name happened? Where are you hurt?”

To her bewilderment, the enormous skeleton shook his head and waved her off. “Go ‘way,” he moaned.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she snapped. “Whatever happened, whatever it told you, it wasn’t real!” The young woman tried to peer into his face, but he turned away. “Sans, look at me!”

He shook his head harder and tried to shuffle away from her, his arm coming up to scrub his sockets with his sleeve and smear more red across his brow. It finally hit her that he wasn’t injured, he was _crying_ —

It was all Frisk could do not to break down, too. Why had she ever agreed to take down the barrier? But much more importantly, why wouldn’t the child leave him alone? Why did Sans have to be so miserable? She could remember standing by his house in Snowdin as a child, holding his hand and smiling up at him, sensing how unhappy he was behind his lackadaisical exterior and how hard he was working to hide it. He hadn’t deserved to feel that way back then, and he didn’t need a demon to help him torment himself now!

Where had that misery even come from? Was it from witnessing the child’s genocide in his own world? From what Gaster had said, that sense of powerlessness and futility was still echoing somewhere in the back of his mind, waiting to resurface in his nightmares. And what about becoming a boss monster, knowing he no longer fit in with the other monsters – literally – and would live forever as a complete anomaly? Or his efforts to keep his brother happy by absorbing the Underground’s distilled misery, working it out the only way he knew how, till he believed that darkness and violence were natural parts of himself—when was it all going to stop?

Sans jumped as the priestess stood up and grabbed the back of his head, tipping him forward till his forehead was resting on her sternum. “Stop,” he muttered into the thick folds of her robe, trying to pull away.

Frisk’s arms shifted. They could barely fit around his skull, but she had a strong enough hold that he’d have to hurt her to get free. Sans shook his head, carrying her back and forth. “Would ya fuckin’ stop already?” he demanded, more desperate than angry.

“Why,” she said, more of a statement than a question.

No answer. Frisk drew breath to hum at him, but he shook his head again so violently that she almost fell over. “Don’t pull that crap on me now! Quit wastin’ yer damn magic and go away!”

What in the world? “All right, and no,” she retorted.

He growled, but for all his vehemence, he hadn’t so much as raised his arms. His next attempt to dislodge her was so half-hearted that Frisk barely moved. She didn’t need to make any sounds beside the steady, thrumming rhythm of her heartbeat; as she held on, his breathing started to slow down, and he was soon resting so heavily against her that she had to brace herself to hold him up. “We’re both fine,” the priestess said over his head. “All right?”

Sans nodded faintly. One arm looped around her, and most of his palm rested on her back. She felt more red soaking into her robe as she let him nuzzle the downy material over her heart, or SOUL, as he’d call it. It was more than a bit embarrassing to have his face right there, but he’d been through so much that this seemed like the very least she could do.

 _Besides_ , said a wry, far-off corner of her mind, _if I’m going to conceive in the next month or two at the latest, this will be the least of my worries._

Dirt. Now it was impossible not to think of her twice-interrupted dream with a Sans much closer to her size, and impossible to ignore the question of whether her larger, angrier skeleton had enough magic – and creativity – to love a human without hurting her, physically speaking. Being determined to find out didn’t make her any less apprehensive about it.

Then there was the question she was afraid to even look at too closely: if a boss monster was able to give her his magic the way a regular skeleton apparently could, did _she_ have enough magic – and determination – to give him a child and some semblance of a happy or normal life?

“’m fine now,” Sans eventually mumbled. “Leggo.”

Frisk made a disbelieving noise. “’m fine,” the skeleton said stubbornly.

“Mm-hmm.” Frisk let go and reached behind her to take his stained hand. “Come here.”

Sans obediently got up and followed her into the bathroom, wiping his eyes again as he sat down where she pointed. She washed her hands, then moved aside for him to wash his; as always, it took forever because his hands were too big for the sink, forcing him to work in sections. Once he’d gotten the majority of the red off, Frisk grabbed a black washcloth and some soap to help work the last bits out of the gaps in his metacarpals. Strange: they’d spent enough time together to be used to platonic physical contact, but it felt so intimate for him to let her touch him between the bones of his hands that she didn’t know what to do with herself.

When those were done, Frisk rinsed the washcloth out, patted her face to cool it, and had him sit down again. He held still as she started cleaning off the blood – or tears, or whatever it was, exactly – but he wouldn’t look her in the eye. A little more red oozed from the corner of one socket as she worked, and without thinking, Frisk placed her palm high on his cheekbone to wipe it off with her thumb. “What happened?” she asked softly.

Sans looked at the floor, then at her, reaching up. For a second, she thought he was going to push her hand away; instead, he curled his forefinger around her wrist and turned her palm over, looking at it as though he’d never seen a human this close before. “I couldn’t find Pap,” he mumbled. “Had a dream where…” His entire skull turned a spectrum of colors again, and he released her, closing his eyes as she eased the cloth around the edges of his sockets. “…stuff happened, then I thought I was awake, and…” He shivered, hunching his shoulders again. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“That’s fine,” she assured him, turning to wring out the washcloth and dab more soap on it, wondering what exactly he’d seen. Her heart was starting to feel quivery again. “Look up, please,” she said, trying to feel maternal.

The skeleton remained docile through several more scrubbings and a final once-over. He had recovered enough by now to towel himself dry, but as he handed it back, he absently wiped his face one more time on his sleeve. “Sans,” she scolded him, pointing in the mirror to yet another red streak on his jaw, this one transferred from his shirt. Frisk picked up the washcloth with a sigh. “We’re going to have to send that to the laundry.” She swiped the last bit off. “I won’t blame you for getting upset after whatever that _thing_ did to you, but…”

“I wasn’t—” There was a slightly stupid pause as he tried to formulate a denial of having been upset. She just looked at him, and he switched tactics, protesting, “Hey, you got messy, too. ’s yer own fault. Next time, don’ grab me like that.”

Frisk wouldn’t dignify that with a response, though he was correct that her robe had dark splotches on the front and back. As Sans poked at his sleeves to check if they really had to be washed, the priestess leaned toward the mirror and opened her robe, seeing where his tears had soaked through and left rusty spots on her cleavage. “Dirt. You’re right, I need a bath.” The young woman sighed and rubbed her eyes, unaware that Sans had looked up, or that his entire world had instantly become fixated on the front of her robe. “Maybe after breakfast.”

Sans didn’t answer, but the silence felt different this time. Frisk stopped as she heard how heavily he was breathing. Funny, she remembered that sound from…from her dream. She swallowed hard, and without thinking, she turned to face him.

Sans moved very deliberately, kneeling in front of the priestess with his arms outstretched on either side of the sink and his face looming above hers. His mouth hung slightly open, eyes burning, breath hitting her like steam. When she tried to speak, he leaned closer. “Don’t move,” he rasped in her ear.

“Okay,” said Frisk, sounding much calmer than she felt. Despite his injunction, she glanced down and realized she’d forgotten to cover herself.

Damn, damn, _damn_! She’d never heard him like this before! What was wrong with—

Frisk stopped and gave herself a mental smack in the face, because she knew exactly what was wrong with him. “Sans, please,” she said, hoping he couldn’t hear her heart pounding.

A soft growl. “Seriously, Frisk. ‘m tryin’ not ta lose it here. Just…just gimme a minute.”

The young woman nodded. Should she try to calm him down, or put him to sleep? Whistling usually worked fast. She swallowed again, and licked her lips.

Wrong move: Sans leaned down and nudged her hard with his cheek. “Hey.” His voice gave her chills, mostly not good ones. “Ya do that again, and…” He inhaled so hard that she felt a rush of cold against her scalp. She tried not to wince or make a sound as he exhaled. “I already said no more noises. ‘Kay? They’re not gonna work on me right now,” he warned.

Think. Think, think. He was playing with her hair, one phalange trailing down her neck to her collarbone and her partly open robe. And a small part of her, an urge that steadily grew as his breath washed over her and his fingers brushed her cheek, actually wondered what would happen if she didn’t stop him. Hadn’t she wanted this for a long time, no matter how much she enjoyed his friendship?

No. Not like this, pinned against the bathroom sink, with him so worked up that one slip of his hand or teeth could do irreparable damage. “Sans,” Frisk said, loud enough to divert his attention. “I have two things to say. Can you listen to me for fifteen seconds?”

“…Good question.”

At least his hand had stopped moving. Before it could start again, Frisk said, “The first thing is that you have to stop. I am not ready for this yet, Sans, and neither are you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He was shaking again, the bones of his wrist rattling against the sink. She didn’t know whether to let him speak or keep him distracted, and quickly chose the latter: “The second thing is…why did the monster eat the tightrope walker?”

The trembling stopped. “Hm?” Sans paused, and she prayed that it’d be enough to shift his mental gears. “I…I dunno. Why?”

“Because,” Frisk said, “he wanted to have a balanced meal.”

Pause. “Heh,” Sans mumbled. “I thought it was ‘cause he wanted ta learn the _ropes_.”

He wasn’t moving. It hadn’t worked. Think think— “Come on,” she said, trying to sound old. “Be a nice skeleton.”

“…That.” Sans made a slight sound, and she almost wept with relief as his shoulders twitched. “That…” He started snickering, and put a hand to his forehead, allowing her to scramble away, yanking her robe shut. “Oh, man!” The skeleton leaned against the wall. “Why the hell—”

Frisk managed a smile. He glanced at her in the mirror, sobering. “Goddammit. …Sorry. I mean, dirt.” Sans got up and moved back against the wall. “Want me ta go away forever?” he asked, not very jokingly.

She shook her head. “No, but I think we’re long overdue for a talk about this.”

He flinched as though she’d poked him in the eye socket. Frisk waited for him to say something, anything, only to be interrupted by a knock on the outside doors.

Goddammit, indeed. The priestess allowed him to go welcome the distraction while she retrieved the washcloth to scrub the nearly-dry gunk off her breasts, thence to her dressing room to change into the most boring dress she owned and think things over.

On sober reflection, she mostly couldn’t believe that she’d been so determined to stay so _stupid_. Gaster had said to her face, under a truth spell, that Sans was “deeply in love” with her, direct quote. And what did she do? She’d actually checked a magic textbook to see if he could’ve possibly meant something else! How idiotic was she? Lust and love were not the same thing, but she knew Sans, and he wouldn’t be feeling one without the other. If both were in play now thanks to heightened emotions from those dreams, and then seeing her robe open…

Damnation. Now all she could think about was how she’d shown her scars the other night and let him touch her, and—oh, God, what about the time she lured him into the bathroom? The sleepovers? Dragging him along to tea and making him watch Luke flirt with her? The full-body hugs? If he’d actually felt this way the whole time, or even just part of it, what had she been doing to him?

Even worse was the realization that she hadn’t really believed it, and yet was operating on the half-conscious assumption that he was hers if she wanted him—stupid _and_ presumptuous, not a good combination.

Well, no more. It was time to stop pretending her hopes for him were just going to work themselves out at some point, and to stop wasting her energy on endless what-ifs about physical or magical possibilities. None of it meant anything until she actually talked to him.

…At least she understood another aspect of her fortune now. She doubted if Sans knew that it was a crime for a human to have physical relations of any kind with a monster—Gaster might not even know. It very rarely came up, as monsters were primarily viewed as utilities, but miscegenation was a serious offense. It had been easy to avoid thinking about it or dismiss it as something she could get around via political influence, but going forward, she had to be realistic.

So. Realistically speaking, her good reputation – and Sans being a skeleton – had protected her from any real suspicion, but if he did somehow become her child’s father, she had no intention of trying to hide their relationship. Not only would she be unable to legally marry him, she’d have to call in some _very_ sizable favors to avoid prison time or worse. Who knew? Maybe that was how she could get out of being High Priestess…

She was still deep in thought when she left the safety of her dressing room, not looking at Sans, who was devouring his breakfast as fast as he could. She decided to let him finish while she went through her morning mail, a task so boring that it was guaranteed to calm her down.

~

The skeleton gulped down the rest of his food in record time, but couldn’t help peeking at her as he got up, trying to gauge her mood. Nope, she didn’t look mad, so—

He stopped, looked again, and frowned. Her expression was utterly blank, her hands gripping the paper so hard that the edges were digging into her skin. “Hey, hey,” Sans chided her, taking the note and setting it down on the table. “What’s wrong?”

He could barely hear her response: “We’re leaving.”

Blink. “Wha?”

Frisk didn’t move, except to stab a finger at the note. Sans picked it back up and felt his brows rise as he read aloud, “‘Greetings. His Grace the blah blah Duke Archibald blah blah Duke Archiblah requests the assistance of the exalted Thea in arbitrating the matter of eight monsters to be placed with new owners in—’ What the fuck does he mean, ‘new owners’?! I thought they were yours!”

“I don’t technically own them. I just have legal custody. Usually, they wouldn’t start the process of getting them to new owners for a month or two at the soonest.” Frisk’s face was white. “I can’t believe it. He’s doing this on purpose! He…”

Sans stared at the Duke’s crest on the little square of paper. “Yer dad?” he muttered.

“He _knows_ , and I know that I did everything exactly right, and he still—” The High Priestess didn’t brush a tear away so much as slap it off her face. Sans watched helplessly as she closed her eyes and got her breathing under control. “Start packing, Sans. We’re leaving tomorrow morning,” she said, very cold and precise. “We’re going to bring those monsters back to the Underground ourselves, and I will stay for ten days as their first official human visitor in thirteen years, and if my father doesn’t like it, I will cordially invite him to go _fuck_ himself. He’s certainly had enough practice.”

The boss monster’s jaw hung open. “I—”

“We’ll pack up everything today and commandeer two wagons tomorrow morning. I’ll take the monsters and say they’re going to my house in Riverside. We can stop there overnight.” She took the note back and began crumpling it into a tiny ball. “We are not going to tell anyone _anything_ before we leave, including Dr. Gaster. If anyone else tries to tell me what I can’t do…” The High Priestess unfolded the ball and ripped it into halves, quarters, and tiny shreds before scattering the pieces.

Thus began one of the most hectic, stressful, yet anticlimatic days he’d ever had. Plans were discussed, or dictated to him; many many items were put into boxes or bags; and the little mental counter he’d had going of his days remaining in the castle was tossed out the mental window. He should’ve been glad that he was going to get her to the Underground so much sooner than expected, or at least somewhat grateful that the note had completely overshadowed the morning’s events, but frankly, he didn’t have the time.

…Until now, right after dinner, when they finished wrapping the last of the empty glass vials in some of the furs for Mettaton and stuffed it into the last empty satchel. Frisk glanced at him and bit her lip, and before she even spoke, Sans hopped up and retreated to the bedroom.

Sure as Fate, Frisk got up, too, and she followed him in before he could shut the door. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, staring at the rust-brown spots on the white sheets. “I hope they can get those out,” he mumbled.

“Sit down,” she said.

Sans turned to stare at her. “What—”

“Sit down, Sans.”

Something in her tone sent prickles up his spine and down his limbs. He shifted his weight, avoiding her gaze. “I think I’ll sleep out there. We’ve got a hell of a lot of—”

“Sit down on the floor _right now_.”

Her voice was low and perfectly gentle, but it made him fold his legs and settle his coccyx on the floor, and all he wanted was to leave the room. “Frisk,” he pleaded.

“Keep your hands where they are.” The boss monster shut his eyes as she came close enough for him to feel her body heat and smell the wine she’d had after dinner. It hadn’t been that much, had it?

Now her arms were around his shoulders, hanging most of her weight and all of her softness against him like a necklace. Sans went rigid, his breath coming quick and harsh. Not again!

Frisk rested her head on his jawbone. “What did you dream about, Sans?”

Whatever she was doing, he couldn’t move, and he couldn’t lie to her. “I…was the way I used ta be, my old size. I was gettin’ in bed with you, and ya let me…” What the hell was she doing to him? “…ya let me do everythin’ I wanted. Then I woke up, ‘n you were _dead_. I bit yer neck clean through, you were all twisted up, blood everywhere—”

“It was a lie, Sans. You didn’t kill me.”

“‘Course it was a lie! It was a fuckin’ dream!” He laughed shakily. “Pun intended, I guess. Point is—”

“The second part was a lie. The first part really happened, just not here or now.”

Sans snorted. “I don’ even know what that means. It was just a dream, Frisk. Hate ta break it to you, but they’ve got lotsa stuff in ‘em that doesn’t actually happen.”

“Really. Like this?” She ran her hands over his skull, and Sans’ whole body shuddered. Her voice dropped. “Should I demonstrate anything else we did?”

He was panting again, jaws hanging slightly open. If she wanted to talk about this— “D’you know what’d happen if I fucked you for real?” he snarled, and it was her turn to flinch. “Even if I squashed myself down to my human size, an’ I made sure everything else fit,” he said scathingly, “’m not a human, an’ I’d still be pumpin’ ya full of magic. And guess what? I’ve been stewin’ in all this hate and the shit I absorbed from the Underground over…what, ten, twelve years?” He snorted. “Ya still won’t let me infuse anything ‘cause my magic sucks. Givin’ it to you would be the same thing, but a million times worse.” His hands flexed inside his pockets. It was almost a relief to be getting all of this out…almost. “Yer magic’s pretty damn strong, ‘specially for a human, an’ you could maybe handle a little of mine, but I’m a boss monster, remember? I dunno exactly how high my power’s scaled up compared to a regular monster, but it’s way the hell too much. I’d kill ya one way or another.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” the priestess said. “I’m going to have a child by next All Souls Day and bring it to the festival, remember? I can’t do that if I’m dead.” Something very soft brushed the side of his head. “I understand what you’re saying, and I know you’re worried about me. But it’s not impossible. Gaster said you’ve been sloughing off whatever’s built up around your SOUL. You _can_ do it, Sans.” The soft touch was her hand; she was petting him like…not like a dog, more like a mother with an upset child.

…Right. That was how she’d pacified him the very first time they met, when he was going to obliterate her and steal her SOUL. She’d petted his blaster until he just stopped being angry. Fucking hell, what if he’d really done it?

Just like before, he couldn’t dwell on it, couldn’t stay mad. He hadn’t blasted her. She was fine. Sans breathed in, and out. He felt her shifting along his ribs, and his mind jumped back to what he’d seen in the mirror when she forgot to close the robe. She could’ve obliterated him with a barrier at that range, but she never did what any sane woman would do. Telling him that joke about the tightrope walker, saying they weren’t ready yet—

Click, click, click. Sans could actually feel things settling into place, realization crashing through the wall of anger and self-pity. “We’re not ready _yet_? Meaning…”

If that seemed to come out of nowhere, Frisk didn’t show it. “No, we’re not. At the very least, I want to be back safe in the Underground and have things straightened out with Asgore before I think about that,” she said. “And you need to practice…sizing.” Squirm. “But mostly, stop hating yourself so much. Please.”

A long pause, and one bewildered, honest question: “Why?”

Frisk sighed in patient exasperation. “Think about it,” she said into what would’ve been a human ear. “Meanwhile, you’re right. We need to get some sleep.”

“Seriously?!” Sans struggled to get his hands out of his pockets as she stepped away. “Ya can’t say all that an’ expect me to just—”

Frisk was back in front of him, and before he could blink, her hand went to the side of his face, resting on his cheekbone. “I know that was a lot to take in, but the point is that I want to help you, Sans,” she said. “Right now, that means sleep. Can I sing something for you?”

The last of Sans’ resistance crumbled as he placed his massive hand on hers, trapping it against his cheek. She’d won. If she wanted him to think he was great and not a giant, psychotic, poisonous piece of shit, he’d do it. If she wanted to wait till they were Underground and then let him have her, he wasn’t going to argue anymore. If she wanted him to tear his own head off and eat it…

Frisk indicated the bed with a motion of her head. As he stretched out and closed his eyes, still disbelieving, she cleared her throat. Out came that glorious sound he remembered, the same song: “May all your dreams be sweet tonight, safe upon your bed of moonlight. And know not of sadness, pain, or care…”

He didn’t care anymore about dreams, or his crappy magic, or what a pain tomorrow was going to be. _I’m goin’ home,_ he thought. _Goin’ home with her._ For now, that was good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exciting news: we are making a video for the YouTubes reading Chapter 1! Do you do art? Would you like to art for the video? Splendid! Please submit your magnificent work to theunderpuppets@gmail.com--we need Chapter 1 illustrations right now, but all art will be used eventually!
> 
> Are you an experienced voice actor? Can you nail that Boss Monster Sans baritone? No? Me neither! But it's okay, because it's all in good fun! Contact Dale at theunderpuppets@gmail.com if you want to be part of the dramatic reading--no experience required. We need someone to play Sans, but there are also lots of minor parts with only 1-2 lines of dialogue (primarily dudes).


	13. Kris

_“…AND THIS, MY INTREPID YOUNG FRIEND, IS…THE ROYAL GUARD!! NYEHHHHHH!”_

_They’d stopped at the head of the staircase in the Grand Hall. Her new skeleton friend had thrown his arms wide at a line of monsters standing motionless in shiny black armor, as proud as a child showing a visitor his favorite toys. “NYEHHH,” he added reverently._

_The Royal Guard was quite impressive, like gleaming statues that could come to life and kill you, but Frisk wasn’t scared. She could see their ears poking out from their helmets, and some of them looked pretty silly: a couple of dogs, a cat, a rabbit, a bug, something like a lizard or dragon…_

_But then there was their Captain, who had just removed her helmet. She did_ not _look silly. “UNDYNE!” Papyrus blared at the tall, eyepatched fish-woman. “THIS IS KRIS! SAY HELLO TO HIM! …ER, UNDYNE? HIS NAME IS KRIS, NYEH HEH! …HE IS A HUMAN! …NYEH? UNDYNE?”_

_No answer. Undyne’s scarred, scowling, evil-toothed countenance did not waver. Her webbed hand was clenched on the shaft of her spear, cerulean scales and mostly-yellow eye glittering in the witchlight. Even her red ponytail looked menacing as it fluttered in the breeze of passing dignitaries._

_The human’s path was clear. Her expression went blank with determination. Frisk looked around and saw vases full of fresh flowers against the wall; as the monsters glanced at each other in confusion, the child selected a vase, tossed out the flowers, lugged the vase back to the Royal Guard Captain, and, with one almighty heave, threw the water right into Undyne’s face._

~

Frisk woke him even earlier than they’d planned, looking as though she hadn’t slept and sounding very businesslike. Sans was too groggy at first to remember last night, and before he could wonder if it had even happened, she was already laying out their plan for the day.

And…it was not what they had discussed yesterday. It was the opposite. “Lemme get this straight,” he said when she was finished. “Ya don’ wanna sneak out anymore. You wanna tell everyone an’ their mom that we’re takin’ the monsters back t’the Underground as a goodwill gesture in exchange for more cool monster stuff.”

“Yes.”

“So we’re goin’ out as a big deal that everyone knows about, on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“We’re gonna let ‘em think you already cleared it with the King ‘n everything’s fine?”

“Yes.”

“That’s…that’s a big fat lie.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes it is.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“I’m not an idiot, Sans! If we disappeared without any indication whatsoever of where I’d gone, His Majesty would assume I’d been abducted and send soldiers after me. I just woke him up a few minutes ago and told him where we were going, and why.”

Something about the way she said it made him ask, “And he’s okay with it?”

Frisk smirked. “We’re going.”

~

Departing with a lot of fanfare actually took less effort than Sans expected. All he had to do was go down to the stables, announce that Her Eminence was leaving immediately on an important diplomatic mission, hand over her written instructions, and then stand back. For once, his scariness was a real advantage: by the time Frisk brought down the group of silent, shivering monsters, the wagons were already in place, the horses hitched up, and the cargo nearly loaded.

The priestess had been busy mobilizing a small army of assistants, which was a lot easier than their original plan to have him teleport everything from her room. Their provisions and gifts for the Underground were brought down and loaded according to the diagrams Frisk had drawn for the monsters: one wagon was for Ice Cap, who would travel with the majority of the food, while the other had Pyrope and Vulkin, who were wrapped in fireproof blankets and seated away from anything flammable. The other monsters would ride with them in order to stay warm—the canvas wagon covers were good for privacy, but didn’t keep out much of the wind.

Sans had made himself scarce while the work was going on, but when everyone and everything was in place, he stepped up to make Frisk get in with the flame monsters instead of riding up front in the lead wagon. She’d been standing in a corner of the freezing yard to supervise the last preparations; in her full High Priestess regalia, she was as impressive as ever, but he’d watched her closely and seen her trying not to cough.

As her personal guard, and her…whatever the hell they were now, it was his duty to not let her get sick again, but his official consideration was for her safety. They were traveling with a cortege of twelve guards, which would deter most attackers and also help clear traffic ahead of them, but there was no point in putting her on display for someone to take potshots.

They wheeled out of the castle gates and onto the main thoroughfare just after sunrise. Sans wasn’t a big fan of walking, or being in the cold, but his slippers and overcoat were mostly adequate. He wished he could poke his head into the wagon to check on Frisk, but she had asked him not to let the other monsters see him yet; besides, he heard her humming at a couple of points and figured she was busy keeping them calm. Pyrope was a twitchy little bastard, and Vulkin had a bad habit of “helping” via lava, so he’d just leave her to it.

The day passed, and to their pleasant surprise, they reached Frisk’s house on the outskirts of the city long before dark. That gave them more time than expected for Frisk to unload the monsters and shepherd them into the house; Sans grabbed enough food for that night and the morning, and the attendants took the wagons and horses to the nearest inn. Two guards took up positions outside the house before they locked the door for the night, and that was that.

None of the monsters had spoken or made eye contact with anyone all day, to Sans’ knowledge. As soon as they were gathered in the dining room, the priestess allowed him to step in and say, “Heya.”

Frisk retreated as the monsters came alive, swarming around the giant skeleton and all babbling at once in frantic relief. He had been somewhat scary to them in the relative peace of the Underground, but seeing him now was the best possible reassurance that the High Priestess had not been lying or playing some kind of sick game with them: they really would be home by the day after tomorrow.

After a few minutes, Frisk came back into the room, bare-headed and wearing a loose white gown, for Sans to re-introduce her as “Kris,” the not-really-a-boy from the human delegation. Six of the eight remembered her, and Pyrope got so excited that he left a couple of smoking holes in the carpet.

When everyone was done eating and talking, Frisk directed Ice Cap to the attic, where they could safely leave the little window open to keep it cold, while Sans built up the kitchen fire and made an asbestos-blanket fort for the flame monsters. The others sprawled out on the beds or any patch of floor they could, safe and well-fed; still, Sans noticed how uneasy they were, and understood what that was like. He just hoped they’d be able to _feel_ safe again.

Once everyone was settled, Frisk was nowhere to be found. Of all the damn places she could’ve slept in, Sans finally found her wrapped up in her cloak in the bathtub. “Frisk,” he said accusingly.

She made a noise explaining that she was fine, a monster could have the remaining bed.

“Nope.” The priestess squeaked as he bent to scoop her up in both hands. “C’mon, kitten. Time ta sleep literally anywhere else.” Before she could object, he walked her into the smallest bedroom, dropped her onto the bed, and threw a comforter over her. “There. G’night.”

Frisk struggled to sit up. “Wait, where—”

Sans lay down on the floor and sighed noisily. “We’re not t’the Underground yet. Let’s just go ta sleep, okay?”

“…Okay. But, Sans—”

The boss monster emitted a loud, sustained fake snore, cut short by her pillow landing on his face.

~

Either the demon-child was still satisfied from the other night, or they were just too tired to be reachable, because they woke from a dreamless night to another stiff, sore day of travel.

The monsters were more animated today as they loaded into the wagons, which Frisk took as a good omen. Granted, there was a delay when Sans got too close to the draft horses and scared them so badly that the grooms had to unhitch them for a quick jog around the block, but the crowd gathering on the street to watch still cheered and waved as they set off.

It was another bitterly cold day, and as Frisk leaned into Vulkin, she tried not to think too much about spending the night in the no-man’s-land. King Stephin had still been sleepy when they talked yesterday morning, and the best objection he’d come up with on the spot had been the diplomatic ramifications of bringing so many humans so close to the Underground. She’d countered with the proposal that they leave all their attendants at the border and have Sans handle both security and transportation from then on, as he was a monster and knew the area well. The King tried to backpedal, but Frisk had gone on about a smaller group being faster and safer, attracting less attention, needing fewer provisions, etc., until he gave in.

“Very well. I will ask His Holiness to arrange the necessary financial matters for each monster,” the King had said coolly. “I am trusting you, Frisk, to bring back favorable news, and prove that this mission is any better than a child’s tantrum over not getting her way.”

“I wonder that Your Majesty has ever spent enough time with a child to see one,” she shot back, eliminating any chance of leaving him on a polite note.

Unfortunately, Frisk was now so busy thinking of that conversation – and trying to ignore the bruises she was accumulating from riding in a big, jouncing cargo wagon – that she forgot to mention it to Sans until they stopped for a break several miles outside the city. He’d started bemoaning the logistics they had to work out for that evening, trying to get all these guys fed and coordinated and bedded down and what they were going to do with the horses, and she had to cut him off with “They’re not coming.”

The guards and drivers looked up from their roadside sandwiches at a furious, smothered explosion of sound. They glanced at each other as the massive skeleton growled down at the priestess, but she didn’t seem worried, so they resumed eating as Sans carried on snarling and gesticulating.

Frisk could understand why he was upset, but the third time he ended a sentence with “—‘n did I mention I’m not a fuckin’ horse?!” was enough. “Sans,” she said, and he stopped. “Calm down and think about it. This may actually be safer. Have I ever shown you how I can hide something with a barrier?”

“Uh…” The boss monster shrugged crankily. “I know you’ve got a lotta different tricks.” Snort. “Any chance ya have somethin’ that’ll pull the wagons for us?”

“Yes. You.”

Sans blinked, and covered his face with one hand. “God damn it.”

Frisk turned her back to the guards so she could grin at him through the veil. “It takes a lot of strength, but if it’s just the two of us and the wagons, I could keep us completely hidden for short periods,” she said, more somberly. “In your opinion, is it safer to move by night, or camp outside the border till morning and then make as much time as we can?”

The skeleton tapped his dusty slipper on the grass, thinking out loud. “It’s probably better t’go at night. A lot of this place is so flat that you can see fer miles on a clear day. I can get by pretty well in the dark, so yer right. If we don’t have all of these dorks walkin’ with us ‘n makin’ noise, you’d just need ta cover up the wagons. It’s mostly bedrock out here, so with the wind blowin’ the sand around, we shouldn’t hafta worry about tracks.”

“I see. How far should we try to get tonight? I don’t think we can make it all in one push.”

“Not if I’m all we’ve got,” he grumbled. “Let’s get t’the fence and see how we’re doin’.”

Frisk had a word with the drivers; when they started again, they went at a quicker pace, the better to reach their destination and allow the men and horses time to get back to the nearest village before dark.

She grew more and more apprehensive as the hours passed, and finally dug out her satchel of clothing, asking the monsters to close their eyes so she could change into a more practical dress than her High Priestess leg-trap. Not long afterward, the wagon slowed and ground to a halt; they were at the border, a day’s journey from the Underground.

~

Sans waited till the other humans were almost out of sight to tell the monsters, “Come on out, guys.”

All but the flame monsters piled out to stretch their legs and wings while Sans ran a trace of red magic along the wire fencing. Frisk watched him pluck at a seemingly solid strand, revealing a length of twine holding two cut pieces together. “Humans go in ‘n out this way,” the skeleton informed her. “’s like havin’ a gate. They just untie it and tie it back up behind ‘em.”

Frisk shook her head and hugged herself tighter under her cloak. Sans didn’t have time to admire how the cold air had turned her cheeks red, or be really irritated at how the men had all gawked at her without her veil, but he did it anyway while the monsters got ready to resume their places. “So,” the skeleton said, resigned, “how’re we gonna do this crap?”

Five minutes later, Sans was trudging along in the fast-fading light, his hands shoved in his pockets, the wagon’s shafts wedged between his wrists and his hipbones so he could pull it in lieu of a horse. Frisk sat in the driver’s seat of the second wagon, whistling softly and watching the tufts of red magic keeping its shafts upright. Sans had to admit that the flat terrain and the laws of physics made it easy to keep the wagons going once they’d started…but it still sucked.

“Are you doing all right?” the priestess asked at one point.

“Neigh,” he responded, and she started _snrrk_ ing so hard that he threatened to stop and make _her_ pull the damn wagon. Then he had to deal with that mental imagery until it got darker and he could focus on maintaining a tiny speck of magic to sharpen his night vision. It was nearly a new moon out, perfect for moving in secrecy.

It happened some time after midnight. The monsters had fallen asleep; the priestess was dozing, and Sans was on the verge of stopping for the night when a shriek rang out from the wagon behind Frisk, who nearly fell off her seat. Sans had to lift her down for her to run back, leap into the wagon, and rouse Vulkin from a nightmare, humming urgently to quiet her.

“Shit,” Sans muttered as a torch flared in the distance. “Hey, kitten?”

She didn’t waste any time: a whistle raised a golden bubble around them, and Sans winced at the sheer power crackling through it. For the first time, he found he was less worried about being trapped inside a barrier than he was about the amount of magic it was costing her.

Minute after minute passed. Strange human voices drew way too close, and Sans could only stand there while Frisk held the spell steady, diverting enough magic to soothe the terrified monsters. The giant skeleton had no idea how she was blocking both sound and light _and_ hiding the barrier’s presence from the other side while she hummed, but she did it, because the poachers soon concluded that it’d been a false alarm and wandered back the way they’d come. “They’re gone, sweetheart. Drop it,” Sans ordered, and he heard a ragged sound as the barrier evaporated.

That was enough. Sans set the wagons’ brakes, grabbed as many rocks as his remaining magic could carry, and formed stacks under the shafts to hold them upright, then stuck most of his head into the back of the wagon. “I’m so sorry,” whimpered Vulkin. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not yer fault,” he said roughly. In the monster’s glow, he could see the priestess lying on the wagon floor, resting her head on her forearm as she struggled to catch her breath. “Hand ‘er over.”

Later, he would kick himself for dragging Frisk into the cold again, but he had to see for himself that she was okay. Sans bundled her under his coat and sat down against the wheel, folding her into the crook of his arm while he summoned up heat and softness, everything a skeleton usually couldn’t offer.

That was all well and good, but as she turned toward him, trying to reach up around his neck, something weird happened. He allowed her to stand on the ground and rest her weight against him, her arms sliding under his coat and over his bony shoulders; he’d almost gotten used to that amazing, fluttery, possessive thing his SOUL did when she was on him, but this time, it got physically warmer, and he felt like something was…leaving him? What—

Frisk’s whole body jerked. She pulled her head back enough to stare at him. “Sans? What did you do?!”

“I…” Sans had to close his sockets against a rush of dizziness. “I dunno.”

The priestess withdrew her arms and looked down at her hands. She raised one and snapped her fingers, and another barrier roared to life around them. “What the crap, Frisk?” Sans rasped. “Ya don’t have the strength fer that!”

“I do now,” she said blankly. “How…how did you give me magic directly? Is it—”

Just like that, the dizziness had become full-on vertigo. “Sansy needs t’go night-night,” the skeleton mumbled, and the darkness politely stepped up to pull him back down with it.

~

A band of poachers had made camp near the river. Their sentry glanced up from his breakfast, then leapt to his feet and called out as someone emerged from the morning mist. “Whoa! Easy, pal,” said the stranger, stopping a polite distance away and holding his hands up. “We’re not lookin’ for trouble. I’m just checkin’ somethin’.” He made a strange face, as if he wasn’t entirely sure how faces worked. “Have ya heard who’s s’posed to be out here right now?”

“Maybe,” the sentry admitted. He eyed the interloper’s oddly pale hair, the contrast it made with his black coat and red shirt, and lowered his crossbow. “Depends what _you’ve_ heard.”

“Someone from the High Priestess is passin’ through, doin’ somethin’ with a buncha monsters,” said the newcomer, lowering his arms very slowly. “I was makin’ sure ya weren’t them. We’re pretty new at this, so—”

The sentry gave a bark of laughter. “Dumbass! It’s _the_ High Priestess. She’s out here with nine or ten monsters, all by herself.”

“Really?” The stranger blinked too many times. “Hot damn.” He laughed, too, sort of. “Too bad we can’t get magic outta her, huh?”

The sentry leered at him in male camaraderie. “Ever seen her in person? I know what I’d get out of her!” He slapped his leg, oblivious to the stranger’s twitching eye and clenched fists. “Well, if you’re new to the business, take it from me: keep any humans you find and save ‘em for ransom, ‘specially her.”

Blink. “Ransom?”

“Yeah. Ransom,” the poacher said impatiently. “You know who her dad is, right?”

The pale-haired stranger blinked again. “Duke Whatshisface?”

“Seriously?” The sentry shook his head in disbelieving pity. “Her dad’s the King, dipshit. You never heard about it?” He gestured expansively with the crossbow, enjoying the stranger’s dumbfoundment. “No joke. The old man used to fuck anything that’d hold still long enough. There’s five or six kids left that we know of, and she’s his favorite.” His grin broadened. “You really didn’t know? Man, you’re fuckin’ stupid.” He flapped his hand. “Get out of here. Go on home before you trip ‘n kill yourself.”

In a daze, the stranger put his hands in his pockets and turned around. “Oh, by the way,” he said, and without warning, something erupted from the ground, impaling the sentry’s foot.

His screams brought his comrades running to see him clutching a huge white bone sticking out of the bedrock, and a stranger pointing wildly toward the river. “Holy crap, it came from over there!” he shouted. “It’s that big-ass skeleton thing! It’s definitely over there!”

Only one of the poachers tried to say, “Who’re you?” before another line of projectiles slammed into the ground heading away from them; he ran to follow the rest of the group, leaving the luckless sentry to try to wrestle the bone free. When he looked up to demand the stranger help him, there was no one there.

“Fuckin’ fuckstick,” Sans muttered to himself from a few hundred yards away, jerking a hand to summon more bones and make it seem like they were still under attack. “I oughta fuckin’…” He kicked a rock so hard that it hurt his stupid wimpy human toe.

Fuck-a-duck. He couldn’t go back to camp like this. With the mist covering him and the poachers haring off in the opposite direction, he could think things over for a minute, starting with whether Frisk had ever come out and said who her father was.

…No, she never had. He’d just remembered something about Rosa – who he now knew wasn’t even her mom – working for a duke, and reached a reasonable conclusion that was totally wrong. It was probably such an open secret that she either hadn’t thought to tell him or hadn’t wanted to in case he treated her any differently. She was probably sick of that already…

Sans was too lost in thought to see something moving in the mist, following him away from the poachers’ camp along the riverbank. When he absently turned to stare at the water, it vanished, only to reappear as he turned again.

So, Frisk had pulled this crazy stunt because there was nothing else she could do about the monsters being sold. According to everything Sans had seen, only the Cardinal or the King could go over her head; therefore, while Duke Whatshisass was in charge of doling the monsters out to new owners, it probably wasn’t him who’d actually decided to sell them. The Cardinal hadn’t bothered her since she said she’d be retiring, and she hadn’t mentioned him at all, which just left the King.

Sans had seen for himself how much the old man treated her like a daughter, go figure. Knowing Frisk, she’d probably told His Majesty to his face that she intended to free those monsters, and he’d decided to keep her out of serious legal trouble and also remind her who was boss by ordering them sold right away. No wonder she’d been willing to flip him the bird right back by stealing the monsters and getting public opinion on her side.

Against all logic, Sans felt his poofy lips curling upward. In a weird way, this was the push he needed to be a little less miserable about not deserving her and a bit more smug that she’d picked him over the zillion guys desperate to snag an illegitimate princess. At this point, she transcended the concept of _anyone_ deserving her. He still thought he sucked, but so what? If he hadn’t imagined what she’d said the other night, then…

The mist was beginning to thin out as the sun came up. Sans paused and glanced behind him, but nothing was there. He turned back toward their camp, reaching for his chain. Better not confront her about something she hadn’t really been hiding in the first place, though now he was determined to ask about her m—

Only the hiss of something flying through the air alerted him in time to fling up a wall of bones, barely deflecting a blow aimed at his neck. Before he could even swear aloud, more things came at him, and he instinctively turned to run away from their camp.

“Hey! HEY!” a voice shouted. Sans’ human ears perked up at the sound. “Come back here, meat-wad!”

His aim wavered as he threw a wave of pointed bones behind him, just missing the figure in the mist. It easily caught one and threw it straight back at him, only to see it glance off another wall of bone. “You!” the figure snarled. “How did you get Sans’ magic? Where is he?! Tell me, you damn coward!”

Sans dodged another one. “Hey!” Dodge. “Hey, listen, ya crazy broad! It’s—”

“Sans?” They both froze at the sound of Frisk’s voice. “Sans, where are you?”

The boss monster finally understood that expression about blood running cold. Fighting chills, he turned his head and opened his mouth to tell Frisk to run.

That moment of distraction was all the figure needed: Frisk came up just in time to see a bone spin end over end and smash into the back of his head, nearly knocking him out.

~

The High Priestess had heard Sans’ attack on the poachers as she was balancing a frying pan on Vulkin, who’d volunteered to help cook breakfast. Frisk just prayed Sans could divert them without killing anyone, or that he would at least try.

Several minutes later, though, he hadn’t returned. She was passing the pancakes around and had retrieved the bucket for more water when she heard shouting. Her stomach lurched at the sound of bones breaking. _Sans!_

Telling the monsters to stay put, Frisk reflexively grasped the bucket handle and ran out of the warded camp, keeping another barrier ready. “Sans?” She looked around, squinting through the last tendrils of mist. “Sans, where are you?”

She saw him a split-second before someone threw one of his own bones straight back at him. Frisk choked on a scream as he hit the ground, blood darkening the sand. “Sa—"

“Hey. You.”

Frisk gulped as their attacker advanced on her from the edge of the water. “What’d you say about Sans, human? You know where he is?” The tall monster emerged from the mist, removing her helmet as she glared down with one mostly-yellow eye. “Oh, come on! Don’t tell me _you_ took out a boss monster! How’d you do it? Cheating?” She almost spat the last word. “Start talking, you—”

“Undyne?” Despite her fear, Frisk smiled. “Undyne, it’s you!”

A spearpoint flashed in the air, stopping the priestess as she tried to step forward. “How’d you get my name? Did you torture it out of someone, human? Huh? Was it Sans?!” The spear poked at Frisk, forcing her backward. “Tell you what,” Undyne snapped, pivoting toward the human-shaped boss monster, who was still struggling to get up. “Let’s assume you care at all about your accomplice here. Either you tell me what I want to know, or…” The spear rose.

“ _No!_ ” In sheer panic, Frisk threw a barrier between Sans and the other monster.

A moment later, she realized her mistake: Undyne had only been threatening him, but as she looked back at Frisk, her gaze was now murderous. “That’s it! That’s how you did it! You used a frickin’ barrier!” She stomped the ground so hard that Frisk felt the bedrock tremble. “I ought to gut you like a _fish_ , you damn cheater! Do you hear me? A FISH!”

“Wait!” The priestess held up her hands, too distressed to be amused by Undyne’s choice of words. “Undyne, please! I’m—” She bit her lip. That wouldn’t work; Undyne wouldn’t believe that she was Kris. It might make her so angry that she’d try to kill them outright. Frisk racked her brains for some way to prove it—she had never shown Undyne her scars, but…

The Royal Guard Captain scowled deeper, this time in puzzlement, as Frisk stared at the bucket hanging from her forearm. “You’re what, human?” Undyne demanded.

Frisk swallowed hard. “I want to show you something,” she said, and took a deliberate side-step toward the water, ignoring the raised spear. “It’s not a barrier, and it’s not some kind of trick. Just watch, all right? And don’t hurt him!”

Undyne glanced around them in case this was a diversion, and at Sans, now lying still and silent. Frisk saw him, too, and her expression made Undyne lower her spear ever so slightly. “What is it? Make it quick!”

Frisk took a deep breath. To Undyne’s bewilderment, the human’s expression went neutral. She went to the river, dipped up a half bucket of water, carried it back to Undyne, and threw it into her face.

~

Through the haze of pain and gut-wrenching fear, Sans distantly heard Undyne yelling at Frisk, and he felt the barrier she put up to protect him. He wanted to shake her for thinking of him and not herself, and for showing Undyne she could do it. Then there was a dreadful silence, and he couldn’t get up to—

“NGAHHHHHHH!”

Sans threw himself forward, not quite gaining his feet. Hitting the ground again on all fours, he looked frantically for Undyne and whatever horrible things she was doing to—

Frisk was dangling, not from a spear’s bloody point, but from Undyne’s bear hug as the dripping-wet monster swung the human in time to a joyous bellow of “My little bestiiiiiiiiie!”

What the…no, never mind. With an effort, Sans pulled off his disguise and tried not to collapse as the world lurched sideways. “Ow,” he muttered, just to be part of the moment.

Undyne froze, not quite releasing Frisk. “Sans? What the—where’ve you been?” she demanded.

Sans’ glare would have set a lesser monster ablaze on the spot. “Almost gettin’ murdered by yer crazy ass!”

“Really?” Undyne looked puzzled. Then her face lit up. “Ohh, that was you! Ha!” She gave her giant-toothed grin. “Sorry about that, boss. How’d you do that? And why were you saying all that crap to that human back there?”

“I was tryin’ ta throw him off our trail! _We’re_ the monsters and the High Priestess!” Sans sat up and raised one hand to heal his aching skull, indicating Frisk with the other. “Now let ‘er go before ya squeeze her t’death!”

“Hm? Oh, right.” Undyne set Frisk down, letting the priestess catch her breath. “So you’re Kris, huh?” The Captain planted her hand on one hip, watching Frisk brush herself off. “Did you know she was a girl?” she asked Sans.

“Nope. She had us all fooled.” Sans closed his eyes to focus his magic. Fuckin’ Undyne. If he hadn’t been a boss monster, that would’ve killed him!

“It wasn’t my idea,” Frisk protested as she picked up the bucket. “I was only ten, and they said it’d be safer. Can I help you with that, Sans?”

Undyne waved her spear. “Whatever! You’re here now! Ignore him, he’s being a big baby.” She glanced around. “Let’s move out before any more damn humans show up. No offense.” Frisk inclined her head. “You say you’ve got more people with you?”

If the monsters had been happy to see Sans, they nearly turned to dust when Undyne strolled into camp and announced that she would be escorting them the rest of the way home. Once everyone had calmed down, Sans had to admit the fish-lady knew how to get people moving: they scarfed down the remaining pancakes and some leftover oranges, then loaded right up and took off toward the Underground.

“Man…” Undyne was holding it together better than he had the first time he found himself inside a barrier, only betraying her fear of the dome overhead with a tighter grip and her eye darting back and forth. “I can’t believe it. She really is the High Priestess, huh?”

“Yep.” Sans was very pointedly nonchalant, sauntering along as the barrier crackled and the fish monster twitched. Served her right. “She coulda killed me a zillion times over, but she never did. Hell, I tried ta kill _her_ a few times, an’ she smacked me down without hurtin’ me.”

Undyne shook her head. “It’s just…Kris is back, and he’s a she, and she’s the High Priestess, and she’s crazy strong…but she’s still Kris. It’s a lot to take in, you know?”

“Tell me about it.” Sans adjusted his grip on the shafts. He was pulling one wagon, and Undyne was pulling the other one alongside him; all it’d taken to get her going was a hint that she couldn’t do it. She was puffing a bit, but doing well now that they were moving. “So how’d you suddenly know it was her?” the skeleton asked.

“It was from the first time Papyrus introduced us,” Frisk said from the driver’s seat behind him. “I thought Undyne must’ve been upset because she was thirsty, so I grabbed a flower vase and tried giving her some water. …In her face.”

Sans guffawed, freeing one hand to slap his femur. “How’d that work out? Did the nice fish say ‘thank you’?”

“No, she just looked surprised. I thought she was feeling better, so I went back and—”

“The little punk tried to do it again! It was the stupidest thing I’d ever seen, but the kid wasn’t scared of me at all.” Undyne shook her head. “Then the King ordered us to be friends with the humans, so I figured I’d be the best damn friend Kris ever had.”

“And you were.” Frisk sighed. “When we get there, Undyne, I have something for you. In fact, we brought gifts for everyone. Did Alphys ever read the last two _Adventure Lady_ novels?”

“Nah, and it’s been bugging her for years, the poor—” Undyne’s eye widened. “No. You didn’t!”

Sans let them chatter, profoundly grateful that they weren’t doing that weird thing where women hated each other for no reason. Having Undyne on their side, both physically and for moral support, was worth a dozen other monsters. “Did you get him that outfit?” she asked Frisk, nodding at the boss monster. “He’s been growing nonstop, so after a while, he just quit buying new clothes. It drives Papyrus _nuts_.”

“He’s my bodyguard, and it pays pretty well,” Frisk explained. “Those were a bonus for helping me shop for everyone.”

“Nice!” Undyne couldn’t reach over and smack him in congratulations, so she contented herself with jerking her head. “Good job, boss. Way to find a nice—what do humans call it? A ‘sugar mama’?”

Frisk burst out laughing and couldn’t stop, Undyne joining in as Sans sputtered. Stupid women, he thought sullenly. Why couldn’t they hate each other instead of giving him shit?

A few hours later, Undyne called a halt. “At this rate, we can get there by nightfall,” she said, offering a hand to the priestess half a second before him. “Er…do you have to, uh, go?”

Frisk looked uncomfortable enough for Undyne to nod hastily and point behind the wagon with her spear. “Not much privacy out here. We’ll just pretend you’re not doing anything, okay? Here, I’ll dig a hole for you.”

If that was awkward – and it was – it was nothing compared to the piscine monster making the others talk to cover the sound of Frisk’s business, then leaning over and whispering to Sans, very matter-of-fact, “Is it just me, or is it weird that Kris turned out to be so damn cute?”

Sans wished the ground wasn’t so flat around here, because then he could find a nice big pit and jump right on in. Luckily, Frisk suddenly said to herself, “Oh, _dirt_ , why now?” and stuck her head beneath the wagon to call, “Undyne? Can you please get the little gray bag out of my satchel for me?”

The Captain obligingly found the only satchel with human clothing in it, rummaged around, and tossed the bag over the wagon and into Frisk’s lap. The young woman mumbled her thanks, but sounded so aggravated that Undyne asked, “What’s up? Are you okay?”

A prolonged sigh. “It’s nothing, just a stupid, ridiculous thing that human females have to put up with.” Frisk came back around a few moments later, stuffing the bag into the satchel. “Now, once we reach the Underground, should we all come in through the Grand Hall, or should Sans and I go through the Ruins into Snowdin?”

Sans exchanged glances with Undyne, who was munching on a roasted potato as if it was an apple. “You’d probably better not go straight to Asgore,” she said reluctantly. “When Snowdrake came back, he was pretty messed up, and the King was…uh…”

“Not happy?” Sans guessed.

Undyne’s eye closed. “Yeah. Not happy.”

“We’ll tell him what happened,” piped up Vulkin from inside the wagon. “We all heard the humans talking. Lady Frisk’s in big trouble for bringing us home, but she’s doing it anyway.”

The monsters made generally affirmative noises, and Frisk managed a smile.

“You are?” Undyne scowled. “Here, we’ve got to get going if we want to make it home before dark. Why don’t you give me the whole story on the way?”

They did, starting with Frisk being brought to the convent after her stint in the Underground and her memories being removed at her father’s request— “Oh, crap, that’s right,” Undyne interrupted. “That scumbag said the King’s your dad. Is that true?”

Frisk looked down at Sans in alarm. “Yeah, that’s what the guy told me,” Sans confirmed, not turning his head. “He was talking about her being worth a lot for ransom.”

The priestess grimaced. “I might not be, after all this.” She swallowed. “I wasn’t sure if you knew. I’m sorry if I—”

Sans made himself shrug. “It’s fine, kit—kiddo. Not like ya ever actually lied about it.”

“I don’t get it,” said Undyne. “If your dad’s the king, why aren’t you a princess?”

“Because I was one of many, many children the king had with women he wasn’t married to,” Frisk replied. “To be a princess, I’d have to have come from his actual wife. The first queen died childless, and his second wife died having the Prince.”

Undyne started. “Wait, so he…with just _anyone_ , and you didn’t even _count_? What the hell is wrong with humans?”

“There’s the million-g question,” Sans mumbled.

Frisk sighed. “Anyway,” she said, “once I stopped begging to go back to the Underground, I settled down and studied as hard as I could. I was ordained a priestess when I was sixteen—”

The story continued until it was time for Sans to pick up with how he’d been caught by a party of five sorcerers almost a month ago. “I figured I’d hang out in jail until someone came ta get me, then kill ‘em,” he said conversationally, “but guess who came strollin’ downstairs?”

“The Duke asked me for help. There was a huge monster in the cells, and no one could decide who would be suitable to take him,” said Frisk. “I figured he must be a boss monster, and I scared them with stories about how powerful he was and how lucky they were that he hadn’t destroyed half the castle already. Then I said I’d take care of him.”

“And you tried to kill her?” Undyne snapped at Sans.

“Tried to burn ‘er, squish her, _and_ blast her,” the boss monster said, almost proudly. “Nothin’ worked. Next thing I knew, I’d signed up fer a month of bein’ a witch ta learn how to grow better crops.”

“Which turned out to be much closer to three weeks, thanks to His Majesty,” Frisk said sourly. “I had each of these monsters taken from humans who were mistreating them so badly that even the Church wouldn’t allow it anymore, and I brought them out here to keep them from being sold again.” Even over the sound of the wheels crunching on sandy rock, they could hear her teeth grinding. “The King _knew_ what I wanted to do, but he thought I shouldn’t have to worry my pretty little head about it anymore, so here we are.”

Sans considered pointing out that the King probably just wanted to keep her out of trouble, but decided he’d rather not be murdered. Undyne’s sole contribution was “…Damn.”

They rolled along in silence. “In three days or so, we can go back to the village and pick up the grain and other things Sans ordered,” the priestess said. “It won’t feed the entire Underground, but it will help.”

“That reminds me, Undyne—ya know the big farm over that way with the maple trees?” Sans nodded in a direction. “She’s gonna get it fer us.”

The Captain gaped at him. “She _what_?”

“I shit you not,” said Sans. “The human who owned it croaked, an’ she’s been negotiatin’ ta buy it. Turns out bein’ High Priestess makes ya super rich.”

Undyne muttered something under her breath, taking a fresh grip on the wagon shafts. Then her head swiveled, and without being told, Frisk immediately began whistling again. The air around them, which had been a translucent gold, solidified until it was nearly opaque. “They can’t see or hear us at all?” asked the fish monster, glancing up warily.

Frisk shook her head, and paused long enough to say, “They’d have to literally be touching the barrier to know we’re here.”

“No kidding?” Undyne squinted to watch the far-off group of humans through the barrier. Sure enough, they were moving away. “So,” she said presently, “how long are you gonna stay this time? Another month?”

“’Bout ten days,” Sans answered for her.

Undyne nodded slowly. The whistling stopped, and the human said, “Yes, if all goes well. It depends how long Asgore will let us stay, and what we’ll be allowed to bring back to the castle afterwards.”

“‘We’?” repeated the Captain.

It took Sans a second to realize what Undyne was even asking. He and Frisk had yet to discuss whether he’d be coming back to the castle after her visit, but the possibility of leaving her hadn’t even occurred to him, and she obviously felt the same way. “Yeah, I’ve gotta learn more witchy crap,” he said, hiding his elation. “Plus, the more monster stuff she gets ta show the other humans, the less trouble she’ll get in fer cartin’ these guys off in the first place.”

“And I’m not pulling the wagons back on my own,” Frisk added.

“Got it,” Undyne murmured, and Sans breathed an inward sigh of relief. Another thing they needed to hash out: what to tell the other monsters about…whatever they were now. Everything still depended on him working on himself, didn’t it? It would be easier to learn to control his magic in the proper directions inside the Underground. Who knew? Maybe if he kept thinking happy thoughts and not actively loathing himself, it’d really be possible. Maybe, if he was in good enough shape by the time they straightened things out with Asgore, they could really—

The priestess resumed whistling, snapping him out of it. Undyne began bobbing her head along with the melody, and immediately started getting the rhythm wrong, but Sans decided not to say anything; he had a lot more thinking to do before they got home.

~

Very much against her will, they left Undyne just out of sight of the Underground’s principal entrance. She would announce their arrival, see the monsters to each of their homes, and then report to Asgore; knowing the King would insist on the wagons being inspected before he allowed them inside, they would also remain here.

Undyne checked over the little group of monsters as they climbed out, then paused. “Hey. Sans? Are you…gonna talk to Her Majesty?”

Frisk knew a loaded question when she heard one. Sure enough, Sans took a much longer time to reply than usual. “Yeah, I kinda have to. If she’s asleep already, I’ll leave ‘er a note.”

“Okay.” The Captain picked up her helmet from one of the shafts, pulled it back on, and nodded to them. “I’ll be in Snowdin as soon as His Majesty’s done with me. Good luck, guys.”

“We’ll see you soon,” Frisk replied, giving her a smile and ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. This was it. They were here!

The monsters trotted off, and they very faintly heard Undyne hail the sentries from atop the rise. “Welp,” Sans said. “This way.” Frisk obediently grabbed her satchel, which she’d stuffed with apples and potatoes, and set off after him, trying to be happy and grateful and not on the verge of barfing.

~

It was another cold, boring day in Snowdin. The monsters were pretty sure they knew what was going to happen today – nothing – and that it was going to keep happening, and it was hard to care much about it anymore. Sure, Papyrus kept nattering about how Sans and a mysterious human had told him they were going to come back to the Underground soon and everything would be all right, but…Papyrus. So the denizens of Snowdin carried on with nothing as usual, secure in the knowledge that—

Every monster in town stopped what they weren’t doing and looked around in confusion. Magic was building in the air like smoke from a barely contained fire; there was a _hhhwp_ , and in the empty space in front of the skeleton brothers’ house, there now stood a boss monster in black slippers and a tiny human peeking out from beneath his overcoat. “I told you to wait,” she scolded him, moving the coat aside like a giant curtain.

“What? You were the one whinin’ about how cold it was,” retorted the skeleton.

“Hey!” To their surprise, Undyne sprang up from where she’d been sitting on the step. “Where have you nerds been?” she snapped. “It’s been five frickin’ hours! Were you talking to Her Majesty, or what?”

“Nah, we got lost in the Ruins,” said Sans. “Tori’s asleep, so I left her a note like I said. What’re _you_ doin’ here already? Is everyone okay?”

Undyne looked at them narrowly, then said, “Yeah, it turned out Asgore was already in the Grand Hall, so we didn’t have to waste time finding him.” She had changed into the outfit Frisk remembered: a short jacket, wool shirt, long pants and red boots. “Everyone’s home by now. I left Ice Cap with his family a few minutes ago.”

Frisk nodded gratefully. “What did the King say?” she asked, setting her satchel down.

Undyne hesitated. “Well…he was happy to see everyone, but then they started talking about how the High Priestess was coming in through Snowdin, and he wasn’t happy anymore.”

“How not-happy is he, exactly?” Sans demanded. “Is Frisk in any danger?”

“Nope. The others kept going on about how you saved them from the other humans, and when I told him you were Kris, he got really quiet.” Undyne put her hands in her jacket pockets. “He said you could stay until we ‘know your true intentions.’ I have to babysit you, and he wants to talk to Sans as soon as possible, but that’s it.”

Sans and Frisk breathed sighs of relief. “Good enough,” said the boss monster. He stood on tiptoe, the better to see most of the way across Snowdin. “Where’s Pap?”

Shrug. “I don’t know. No one’s in the house. He must be at the store or something.”

Frisk rubbed her arms unconsciously, turning in circles to look around them, especially at the light-spangled house. “I can’t believe it,” she murmured. “I—” She swiped at her eyes.

The Royal Guard Captain stepped over to the High Priestess and put an arm around her shoulders. “You know what? May I be the first, K—Frisk, to say: welcome back.” She gave the human what was, for her, a gentle squeeze. “C’mon. We’ll introduce you to everyone again. We can take it nice and slow, no pressure to—HEY!” Undyne had spotted a nearby cluster of monsters staring at them. “What are you looking at? Haven’t you ever seen a human before? I know you have!” She pointed at Frisk, who was still tucked beneath her arm. “Remember Kris?”

Frisk quickly forgot her irritation as several monsters hurried over. “Kris! Bro!” One dinosaur-like creature shouldered its way through the crowd, hopping from foot to foot. “Is that really you? Do you remember me? Hi, Undyne!”

Of _course_ she remembered Monster Kid, who was only a little bigger now, still wearing the same armless sweater—twelve years obviously didn’t go as fast for monsters as it did for humans! There was the bunny who ran the store, Gyftrot – stuff still dangling from his horns – a couple of the various dogs she’d petted and thrown sticks for…

Once the first wave of pleasantries had subsided, it was time to tell them the reason for her visit, what Sans had been up to, and why “Kris” had turned out to be a lady. She noticed a few of those who hadn’t greeted her falling back to go spread the news, but saw no signs of Papyrus.

She wasn’t the only one: right in the middle of a very important discussion on someone’s baby sister being ready to hatch soon, Sans let out a growl that shut everyone up at once. “Where’s my brother?” he asked.

Shrugs and mumbles all around. “He was staring at the river again,” volunteered Gyftrot.

Sans waited for more information, then nodded. “Okay, everyone,” he told the little crowd. “We’re gonna head inside for a minute. If anyone sees Pap, don’t tell him I’m back yet, don’t mention Kris, and don’t do anything to freak him out. Got it?”

A chorus of agreement. “Don’t freak out,” someone said helpfully to Papyrus, who had just stepped into view.

Papyrus froze, staring up at Sans. “BROTHER?” he said. Then: “BROTHER! NYEHHH HEH HEHHHHH!” He leaped up and threw his arms around Sans’ massive ribcage, doing a pullup of sheer joy. “YOU’RE HERE! YOU’RE REALLY HERE THIS TIME, LAZYBONES! I THOUGHT…THE GREAT PAPYRUS THOUGHT—”

“Yeah,” Sans mumbled. “Hey, Pap.” He hugged him back for a long moment, then glanced downward. “She said she’d bring me back safe, didn’t she?”

Papyrus looked at Frisk, who was grinning. He looked at Undyne, who was grinning and nodding. The younger skeleton released his brother and launched himself straight at his best friend, tackling her with a wail of “THANK YOU, UNDYYYYNE! NYEHH!” Before the Captain could correct him, Papyrus dropped her and caught Frisk up in a less forceful but similarly enthused hug. “THANK YOU, HUMAAAAN! I—” He stopped, and turned his head to look at her quizzically. “NYEH. WHY AM I THANKING YOU, HUMAN?”

“Ya met ‘er the last time we talked, Pap, in the dream,” Sans reminded him. “An’ you were right. She _is_ Kris.”

Papyrus blinked, still holding on to her. “I SEE,” he said sagely. “NYEH HEH HEH! OF COURSE THE GREAT PAPYRUS WAS RIGHT! I…I…” His eyes rolled up, and Sans caught Frisk just before she hit the snow along with the fainting skeleton.

“Geez. He probably hasn’t eaten anything or slept in a couple days. No worries, we can fix that!” Undyne punched Sans reassuringly in the ribs, then bent and rummaged in her friend’s “armor,” helping herself to the house key before slinging Papyrus over her shoulder. “Listen up!” she shouted at the assembled monsters. “This is all very exciting, but these guys’ve been traveling for a couple days straight to bring the others back to us. We’ll see everyone in the morning, okay?” She poked Sans as he turned to teleport into the house. “Not you! Asgore’s waiting. Get your bony butt over to Alphys’ place before he comes looking for you.”

Frisk gripped his sleeve, but she made herself say calmly, “It’s fine. We’ll be here when you get back,” as she picked up her satchel.

He stared at her for a moment, then gently removed her hand, and was gone.

Undyne let them into the house, flipping the witchlights on and kicking the door shut as Frisk walked into the living room. It wasn’t the biggest or nicest of dwellings, and it didn’t help that Papyrus had probably been stress-cleaning—it would explain why the couch cushions were still damp from the last time he’d mopped them, and why the pet rock by the kitchen was barely visible under a pile of rock-candy shards. Had Sans set those out for his brother to use, just waiting for the pun to sneak up and hit him out of nowhere?

“Here you go, Pap,” Undyne said briskly, tramping up the stairs while Frisk marveled at how much smaller everything was than she remembered. The priestess heard her deposit Papyrus in his pirate-ship bed, slam the door behind her, and come back down to pull a kitchen chair out for Frisk. “Have a seat. Sorry, but they don’t have anything in the fridge.”

“That’s all right,” Frisk said. She unbuckled the satchel and offered Undyne an apple.

The Captain took it politely, but as Frisk glanced down to dig another one out for herself, the monster chomped the apple nearly in half, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “So,” she said casually, “what were you and Sans up to in the Ruins? No one’s dumb enough to just get lost in there for that long.”

Frisk felt her face grow stiff and hot. “I had to stop and rest because I used too much magic today,” she answered truthfully, and Undyne nodded. “I…actually, maybe you’d know this—is it possible for someone to directly give someone else some of their magic?”

The Captain paused, her eyebrows rising, a smile growing into a giant grin. “Haven’t you heard of—”

Frisk’s face got even hotter. “Not like _that_! I just mean, if you were weak and needed a little extra power, could, say, Asgore or Alphys give you a handshake, or a hug, and lend you some magic?”

“Nope. They couldn’t.” When Frisk looked skeptical, Undyne sighed, then made a fist. “Look, pretend this is my SOUL.” Another fist. “This one is…we’ll say Alphys.” Frisk wondered if it was her imagination, or if her friend’s face was turning red, almost purple under the smaller blue scales. “My body’s made of magic, and so is hers. But my SOUL is self-contained, and so is hers. Even if I took a chunk of my magic and handed it to Alphys—” She knocked her fists together. “Nothing would happen. She can heal me, but that’s just repairing damage, not giving me power that I could use to attack someone or do my own spells, assuming I knew any. There’s no way to combine or exchange magic unless you’re trying to have a kid, and that’s a whole different thing. It takes a lot of power and concentration, and…it’s different.” She was definitely purple now. “Why are you even asking?”

The priestess thought about it. She made a fist, and loosened her fingers until she could slide the fingers of her other hand through it. “After you left today, I was tired, and Sans gave me some of his magic again,” she said distantly. “Monsters can absorb a human SOUL, but…” Her fingers wiggled. “I don’t think it works both ways. Humans can’t take a monster’s SOUL, at least not directly into ourselves.”

Undyne suddenly looked very, very uncomfortable. “That’s true,” she commented, “for normal monsters. For Sans, the rules are a little different.”

Frisk was so startled that she dropped her hands. “Are you saying I was able to take some of his SOUL because I’m human and he’s a boss monster?!”

“Hell no!” the Captain snapped. More calmly, she said, “It doesn’t work like that. If you really took something from him that he couldn’t get back, he’d be acting a lot weaker, or he’d be dust already.” She shrugged. “If he did somehow give you magic and you had to wait for him to recover, and he did, then nah, there’s no permanent damage.”

That was something to think about. Frisk remembered last night, when she’d just wanted him to hold her. There was that jolt of energy, and he’d almost immediately passed out… She thought of a few hours back, when she’d gotten anxious and her magical exhaustion had suddenly kicked in, forcing her to sit down. Sans had – somewhat correctly – assumed that she was getting cold feet, gotten impatient, and picked her up, and when she turned to put her arms around him, it’d happened again.

Then, of course, they’d been in a uniquely ridiculous quandary where she was brimming with magic that wouldn’t help them get anywhere, and he couldn’t even stand up. Thank God she’d had something for him to eat in her satchel, or they might have been stuck out there all night waiting for him to recover. When she half-jokingly suggested she try giving his magic back to him, he’d almost bitten her head off.

Wait. _Wait_ a second. If his magic was supposed to be so dark and terrible and evil, etc., how had she not felt anything like that from him, much less been poisoned? Frisk had the sudden, idiotic, schoolgirl-ish urge to giggle—did the good magic come out of the top half of his body, while the evil stuff came out of the other thing?

Undyne was shaking her head in wonder. “You need to tell all this to Alphys. She’d have a better idea of what’s—”

 _Crack_ went the window.

Both women whipped around at the sound of shouting outside. Undyne wasted no time, slamming her chair back and throwing the door open to roar, “What the hell is going on?”

A moment of quiet; it might have ended there if Frisk hadn’t peeked around her friend’s shoulder. A group of four or five young monsters stood a few yards away, holding stones, their body language scared but defiant. Their ringleader was a feathery snow monster who looked very familiar. “Chilldrake, isn’t it?” the human asked.

The hoodlums drew back as Undyne’s face darkened. “What do you want, kid?” she snapped. “If you’ve got a good reason for breaking Pap’s window, I’m listening!”

“We want her gone,” the drake said, shifting his feet and glaring at Frisk. “Haven’t you seen Snowdrake? He’s not Snowdrake anymore! How can you let a human in here after what they did to him?!”

“And what if she blows us up?” his friend added.

Undyne grabbed a spear from thin air and thrust it in the monsters’ direction. They shrank back, but stood their ground. “That’s not up to a bunch of kids like you,” the Royal Guard Captain snarled. “His Majesty said she could stay. Are you telling me you know better than Asgore?”

They shuffled back again, but a moment later, Chilldrake drew himself up. “Does he know she’s the humans’ High Priestess?” He raised his voice for the monsters standing nearby to hear: “Does he know she makes barriers?”

That got an anxious murmur going. Frisk felt sick; this was everything she’d been afraid of, no matter what Undyne said, or Sans. She glanced around instinctively, but he wasn’t there.

“He knows way more than you do, punk!” snarled Undyne. She advanced down the steps, leaving Frisk in the doorway. “Now get out of here before I _get_ you out of here!”

“Fine!” Chilldrake shook his ruff, dancing a little in place. “If she’s here, it’s not safe anyway! We should _all_ leave before she traps us and drags us off!”

The murmurs were louder and more upset now. The Royal Guard Captain looked at the other monsters in disbelief. “Guys, you were just telling her how glad you were to see her again! She’s the same damn person she was fifteen minutes ago! Are you going to listen to this little—”

“Is she really the High Priestess?” the shopkeeper asked Undyne.

The piscine monster’s face said it all. Too late, she snapped, “It doesn’t matter! She only uses her magic to—”

Everything happened at once. A stone came sailing over Undyne’s head, straight at Frisk, who did not stop to think that it was better to get a black eye or a bad cut than to confirm their worst fears. Reflex kicked in, and a barrier flared in front of her, pinging the rock away.

Her one piece of luck was that every monster froze in place instead of screaming or running to spread the tale of the human who had snuck Underground to use barriers on them—every monster but Chilldrake. “See?” he screamed, flapping his wings so hard that ice crystals flurried off them. “What did I just tell you?! Get _out_ , human! We don’t want you here, and if I have to go tell His Majesty that you’re using barriers, I’ll—”

_Whump._

It wasn’t a rock, or a spear, or a barrier. A ball of pure flame struck the ground in front of Chilldrake, who yelped and hopped backward, crashing into his friends.

The monsters’ heads turned toward the magic’s source, the edge of the field to Frisk’s right; each one immediately dropped to their knees or the equivalent thereof, with the hoodlums throwing themselves flat on their faces.

Undyne took one look, shook her hand to dispel the energy spear, and went to one knee as another monster advanced. “Your Majesty,” she said in wonder, then apprehension. Her head ducked. “Majesty, I can fully explain and take responsibility for—”

A gesture silenced her. The monster came to stand in front of the house, her amber eyes resting on the High Priestess, features impassive.

Frisk’s heart constricted. She was suddenly ten years old again, not knowing whether to be afraid, whether she should bow or do something royal. She came down the steps, and to her horror, she found herself breathing harder, eyes prickling, throat tightening. “Lady Toriel,” she whispered.

Toriel folded her arms at the waist. She wore a plain robe, adorned only with the Delta Rune in white—the same thing Asriel had worn the day she fell into the Underground, only purple instead of black. The former Queen regarded Frisk for a long, terrible moment. “Where is the human named Kris?” she asked sternly.

It took all of Frisk’s training, all her experience as an exalted and lonely member of the Church’s highest echelon, to speak up. “The human child you knew was not a boy, and his name was not Kris. He was a girl, and his name was Frisk.” She swallowed. “I am Frisk.” Damn it, her voice wouldn’t stay steady. “I’m back, Lady Toriel. Please—”

Toriel took a step toward her. Another, and another. Her white-furred hand came up to brush Frisk’s hair from her face. The boss monster stared into her eyes…

And she stooped, opening her arms and folding Frisk into a huge, warm, cloud-soft hug.

Everything pent up behind Frisk’s defenses rose in a surge that crumbled the walls like wet paper. Toriel still smelled like cinnamon and golden flowers, Frisk realized, and she wasn’t ashamed to grab hold of the velvet robe and get it soaked with tears again.

“My poor child,” the boss monster murmured, stroking Frisk’s hair as the priestess’ shoulders heaved. “My poor, dear girl. I’ve missed you so much.” She hugged her tighter. “I cannot tell you how very glad I am to see you again.”

Frisk was sobbing without restraint now, not caring what anyone saw or heard or thought of her. Toriel rested her hand on the back of the young woman’s head and looked up for the first time, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Am I to understand that this human is not welcome here?” She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t have to. “Would anyone like to say anything?”

Chilldrake had collapsed in on himself. His beak moved, but all he could muster was “…High Priestess, Majesty.”

Toriel’s hand grew heavier. “Is this true, my child? You’ve become the High Priestess?”

Frisk didn’t have the courage to raise her head. She just nodded.

The boss monster inhaled, and sighed, her diaphragm moving under Frisk’s cheek. “Then we are very fortunate to have you, Frisk.” She glanced up, once. “Wouldn’t you agree, young man?”

Chilldrake did not nod so much as vibrate his head too fast for it to be visible.

“Splendid. We…what, my child?” Toriel listened as Frisk turned her head to mumble more clearly. “They broke Sans and Papyrus’ window? My word.”

Frisk didn’t see who rushed forward, but she heard a scramble to be the first to check the cracked glass and figure out how to fix or replace it or something _right now_.

Toriel waited for the priestess to get herself under control, then stepped back and took Frisk’s hand. “Captain,” she said, and Undyne was instantly on her feet, fist on her chest. “We have much to discuss. Please accompany us.” And with as much grace and ceremony as if the old house was a marble palace, the boss monster went inside, allowing Undyne to glare once more at the crowd, then shut the door gently behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exciting news: we are making a video for the YouTubes reading Chapter 1! Do you do art? Would you like to art for the video? Splendid! Please submit your magnificent work to theunderpuppets@gmail.com--we need Chapter 1 illustrations right now, but all art will be used eventually! (If you would like to art but also need $, please let us know, lest we find we can work something out!)
> 
> Are you an experienced voice actor? Can you nail that Boss Monster Sans baritone? No? Me neither! But it's okay, because it's all in good fun! Contact Dale at theunderpuppets@gmail.com if you want to be part of the dramatic reading--no experience required. We need someone to play Sans, but there are also lots of minor parts with only 1-2 lines of dialogue (primarily dudes). This is a lot of work for funsies, so we're prepared to offer a bit of compensation. Just drop us a line with a short sample! We will probably start by June 1.


	14. The Secret

The moment Sans appeared outside of Alphys’ laboratory, he knew he was going to hate this. He took in the good ol’ Hotland ambiance – mostly rocks, lava, and being too damn hot – then kicked the snow from his slippers, brushed off his overcoat, and banged on the heavy door.

It peeked open, and a yellow snout showed in the crack. “C-come in,” a voice said apologetically.

Sans rolled his eyes as best he could. “It’s me, Al. Move it, will ya?”

“Sans!” The door flew open, and the reptilian scientist backed up to look at him fully. “It’s r-really you! I thought the h-humans g-got you!”

“They did. I got better.” The giant skeleton bobbed his head at her as he stepped inside. “How’ve ya been?”

She smiled weakly. “Um...”

He nodded and went ahead into the main area, Alphys shuffling after him. The building was three stories, constructed of brick and steel in order to keep any mishaps contained. Now that he was using his sense of smell, it stank in here; Frisk’s workroom smelled like books and priestess and green things growing, but this was something acrid that made the magic of his nose and throat sting. “I’ve been w-working,” said Alphys, somehow phrasing it as a personal fault. “W-would you like something t-to drink? His M-Majesty brought t-tea.”

Sans came to a halt as he spotted a large shape moving from the back storeroom into the nook by Alphys’ first-floor library. The King of the monsters flipped a witchlight on, and it burned so bright that Sans had to shut his eyes. The humans’ lights really were a lot dimmer. “Welcome back, Sans,” Asgore said jovially, seating himself on a couch and gesturing for the skeleton to take the biggest armchair. “It seems you’ve had quite the adventure. How are you feeling? Would you like some tea?”

“No, thanks, Yer Majesty.” The larger boss monster wedged himself into the chair. “I’ve had a hell of a time. What all did the others tell ya, if I may ask?”

Asgore smiled thinly. His beard was longer than Sans remembered, and his hair looked like something had been nesting in it—as if they needed more evidence of how useless he was on his own, Sans thought. “It was quite a story,” said the King. “Would you mind telling me what happened again, please, from your perspective? But first…” He gestured over Sans’ shoulder.

Sure enough, Alphys was hovering behind him, holding something in one shaky claw. “Um,” she explained.

Sans scowled at her. “Don’t gimme that look, Al. I’m not gonna bite ya.” He extended his hand. “That’s a truth stone, right? I don’t care. I’ve got nothin’ ta hide.” _Much._

“It’s m-mostly to check for any residual human m-magic that may be affecting you,” the scientist said, presumably truthfully. She allowed him to pluck the cobalt sphere from her grasp and skittered away with a speed that hurt his feelings a little. He and Alphys had never been the closest of friends, but…well, Frisk and her flagrant lack of fear had obviously spoiled him.

Crap. Whatever was in the stone was pretty damn potent, because thinking of Frisk made him want to say things that he had no intention of letting out until he absolutely had to. Asgore was suspicious enough of him having been around the High Priestess and other humans for so long; what would happen if he found out Sans had fallen for her like a ton of bricks?

“Now…” Asgore poured himself another cup. “How did you come to be in the humans’ grasp?”

Sans hadn’t minded telling Undyne all this stuff, but sitting here fiddling with the stupid rock while the King sipped his tea and watched him as if Sans was going to explode—that, he did mind. But he did it, starting with how he’d been out hunting poachers for a couple days straight without eating anything, getting weak enough to eventually be captured, and failing to kill the High Priestess when she came to make him that fateful offer.

Asgore was frowning, one hand to his chin. “She was sincere about taking you as her apprentice, with no attempt to harm you or steal your magic? Didn’t that strike you as odd?”

 _No shit, King Fluffybuns._ “Yeah, it did, but she never even tried anything like that.” It was true; Gaster was the one who’d purloined a bunch of his magic. Sans wasn’t going to muddy the waters by bringing him up just yet. “I could tell she knew what she was talking about with the potions and stuff. She’s pretty sharp.”

“Yes, of course. Forgive me, but I want to be very clear: she subdued you without harming you, single-handedly?”

Sans’ socket twitched. “Your Majesty is correct,” he said stiffly. “She’s the High Priestess fer a reason. Her barriers are _stupid_ powerful. I don’t think you, me, ‘n Tori put together could crack one.”

As he’d intended, the casual mention of Toriel made Asgore twitch right back. From her position behind Sans’ chair, Alphys cleared her throat nervously. “Are you s-sure? A human sh-shouldn’t—”

The skeleton held up the blue sphere, tapping it with one phalange. “Yeah, I’m positive. If humans had anythin’ like boss monsters, she’d be one fer sure.”

Asgore put down his cup. “And this extraordinary young woman also happens to be the child we knew as Kris? Is that correct?”

“Yep. She’s proven it beyond any doubt ta both me and Undyne.” Somehow, Sans doubted Asgore had made _her_ hold the goddamned rock while she talked. “The others forced 'er to lie about bein’ a boy, but everythin’ else about her was real. She didn’t wanna leave here at all, and as soon as she got her memories back, she started figurin’ out how to come back with me. It happened sooner than we planned ‘cause the King tried ta sell some monsters out from under her. She got so pissed off that she broke the law and brought ‘em here on her own.”

“Got her memories b—ah, yes. Undyne said they were taken from her at the convent.” Asgore’s foot patted the floor a few times. “How old was she when she first visited?” he asked, with a new edge to his voice.

Sans frowned. “She said she was ten. She just looked a lot younger ‘cause they weren’t feedin’ ‘er. Why?”

Another slow pat, pat of fur on carpet. “Undyne overheard someone say the High Priestess was King Stephin’s illegitimate daughter. Do you believe this to be true?”

The giant skeleton looked at the blue stone, studying the patterns swirling in its depths. “I’ve seen how the King acts with her, and the guy I was talkin’ to had no reason ta lie. Puttin’ everything together, yeah, it makes total sense.”

There was no response. Sans glanced up. To his surprise, Asgore was staring into his teacup, his brow furrowed; the King set the cup and saucer down so hard that it sloshed all over the table. Sans had never seen him spill his tea before. “What about her other personal connections?” he asked brusquely. “Other friends and family?”

“Uh…” Sans craned his neck around to see if Alphys understood what was going on, but she was pushing her glasses up and looking at him in equal bewilderment. “Well, she’s got a bunch of half-siblings from the King, but she’s not real close with any of ‘em. One actually tried to kill ‘er while I was there.” Asgore blinked in astonishment, and Sans nodded grimly. “She doesn’t have any other family. She said ‘er mom was dead, and I haven’t had a chance t’ask her any more about it. Not many friends, just some lady she knew from school an’ a lot of guys wantin’ ta marry her.” He wrinkled his nasal ridge. “A _lot_ of guys.”

Asgore nodded again. “I see. Thank you.” He finally noticed the puddle of tea, and used the hem of his already-stained cloak to mop it up. “You’ve spent a great deal of time with her. What do you believe are her true intentions? What does she gain from freeing monsters and antagonizing the other humans?”

“Frisk doesn’t think in terms’a what she can get, Yer Majesty,” Sans said irritably. “I know she sounds too good ta be true. I thought so, too, at first. But she really wants to help us, an’ she can do it better than anyone else. She’s already taught me how ta make fertilizer and a bunch of other stuff to improve our crop yields, and she’s got a whole plan t’get us outta slavery fer good—I’ll let ‘er lay it out for you whenever ya talk with ‘er.” He tossed the sphere from hand to hand a few times, then curled his fingers around it. “Did Undyne tell you about the farm on the river?”

The King stroked his beard. “She did, but I have difficulty believing it. I’ve seen that property myself, and I can’t fathom anyone buying it out of pure altruism.”

“’s not just altruism. She wanted t’do it before she even knew she’d been here as a kid, but now she remembers us an’ how much we all cared about her.” Asgore half-smiled in acknowledgment. With considerable effort, Sans forced himself off that tangent, concluding, “Frisk’s the real deal, Majesty. Turnin’ her down ‘cause she’s human would be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

The King sat back, eyes narrowed, and Alphys made a more-than-usually nervous sound. Sans fidgeted with the sphere. “Anythin’ else, Yer Majesty? I wanna get back home.”

Asgore’s gaze shifted from him to the diminutive scientist. “Do you have any questions, Dr. Alphys?”

For the first time, Alphys came around to stand in front of Sans. “Um…d-do you think she’d let me s-study her magic? I just c-can’t believe a human could be that p-powerful.”

Sans shrugged. “On the way here, she hid us with a barrier that kept people from seein’ or hearing me ‘n the wagons for over ten minutes straight. They couldn’t even tell the barrier was there.”

The King looked him, and at the sphere. Sans was rolling it around on his metacarpals at Alphys’ eye level, daring either of them to say he was lying. When Asgore remained silent, the scientist asked, “What else have you s-seen her do that m-most humans can’t?”

“Be a good person,” Sans mumbled, but the stone’s magic prodded him, and he had to add, “Here’s somethin’ weird. I was checkin’ on ‘er after she used up all ‘er magic on that barrier, and I ended up givin’ her a bunch of my magic by accident.”

Alphys’ jaw dropped. “You did _what_?” the King demanded.

Fuck _._ “Not like havin’ a kid or anything,” the skeleton said hurriedly. “I just…she’d been sick right before we left, so she was already a little run down, an’ I didn’t want us ta be stuck out there without ‘er magic.” That was true enough, but he had to physically stop himself from saying exactly how worried he had been. “I picked ‘er up, and next thing I knew, she was fresh as a daisy ‘n _I_ was passing out. The exact same thing happened a few hours ago, right before I zapped us inta the Ruins.”

“I see.” Somewhat mollified, the King stroked his beard again. “Was she able to use any of your abilities, or did she convert your power into magic of her own?”

“She put a barrier up with it, so it was all her.” As he’d told Frisk way back in his prison cell, monsters were useless when it came to barriers; even if a human stole their magic and tried to use it to fuel a barrier, it wouldn’t stick. “Givin’ it away didn’t hurt me at all. It was jus’ like I’d been workin’ really hard, and I was fine the next day. I’m still a little tired from last time, but I feel like I just need ta get home ‘n go to sleep.”

“Hm.” At least Asgore looked thoughtful now, not angry or alarmed. “Has she ever passed any magic to you in a similar fashion?”

Something came into his mind and straight out his mouth: “No, but we did share a dream where she was able t’touch me, even though we were way far apart. Think that has somethin’ ta do with it?” Argh, that stupid fucking stone—

Luckily, this information didn’t seem to make as big an impression. Asgore just shook his head, looking helplessly at the scientist. “What do you think of all this, Doctor?”

“Hmmm…” The reptilian monster folded her arms. “The humans’ royal family has always had the g-gift of magic. She didn’t get any training as a ch-child, did she?” Sans shook his head. “That means it kept growing until she c-came to the Underground, and this environment p-probably stimulated it further. Humans who don’t use their magic as children will usually h-have more power as adults, and her magic didn’t manifest as anything d-destructive, so she was able to w-wait until the optimal time to learn how to use it.”

The King picked up the teapot. “How is she able to turn a monster’s power directly to her own use? And what about the shared dream?”

“I d-don’t think she’d be able to do that with a regular m-monster, Your Majesty. I think it’s because a boss monster’s S-SOUL is powerful enough that he had magic to spare, and his intention for her t-to have enough magic to p-protect them was the impetus.” She turned to Sans. “Have you been in proximity to her at another t-time when she needed m-magic and you wanted her to have m-more, or was this the first time those c-conditions existed?”

The skeleton thought it over, and had to shake his head. “Nah, this was the first time we were in that bad a situation. So, it’s not gonna keep happenin’ at random? It’s just ‘cause she needed it an’ I wanted her ta have some?” _And we were cozying up?_ he managed not to add.

“I th-think so. It doesn’t hurt that you’ve spent so much time around each other, or that she’s been to the Underground and already l-likes monsters. Given that and your naturally strong c-capabilities, that could explain how her body was able to internalize your magic and express it for her own p-purposes. The same factors would facilitate physical c-c-contact in your dream.”

Sans nodded as calmly as he could, clamping his jaws shut as the truth spell urged him to say something about wanting to give her a lot more magic on purpose.

“Fascinating,” Asgore murmured. He absently picked something out of his beard. “All things considered, it doesn’t sound like she poses an immediate threat to any of us, and we may well benefit from her presence. Therefore, I will trust your judgment and Undyne’s, and allow her to stay for now. However, I will hold both of you responsible for her actions. Is that clear?”

“Sure, Yer Majesty.” Sans held the stone out to Alphys, who slipped into her coat pocket. “I’m gonna get goin’ now, if that’s all right.”

“Absolutely,” the King said, getting to his feet. “Welcome back.” He started to extend his hand, but withdrew it as Sans hopped up and started toward the door, hands in his pockets.

“I-I’ll see you out,” Alphys said quickly, covering the awkward moment. “If you’ll e-excuse me, Your Majesty—”

Asgore nodded, sinking back to the couch. A glance over his shoulder puzzled Sans: instead of being mad at the deliberate slight, the King was scowling and staring at nothing again, obviously back to his unhappy thoughts.

For once, Alphys went straight ahead of him, holding the door wide and closing it right behind them. “I didn’t w-want to ask this in f-front of King Asgore,” she stage-whispered up at him, and Sans obligingly knelt to hear her better. “Everything you were saying about exchanging your m-magic—are you…um…”

Sans gestured impatiently. “Spit it out, Al. Like I said, I’m not gonna—”

“A-are you in love with Frisk?!”

…Well, shit. Sans had forgotten how invested Alphys could get in any kind of narrative, and how quickly she’d pounce on any hint of romantic feelings between anyone, fictional or not. When he failed to immediately deny it, the scientist’s face nearly split in triumphant glee. “I _knew_ it! The way y-you were going on, trying not t-to say too much—it was b-better than a whole p-play!”

“Shhh!” he hissed, though no one was even in sight, much less earshot. “Come on, Al! What would that even matter?!”

“Are you k-k- _kidding_ me? Direct magical c-conversion doesn’t happen every day! It’s only possible between m-monsters in a reproductive context, and I’ve never heard of it at all between a monster and a h-human! Y-you gave it to her and sh-she used it _twice_!” The scientist slapped her own face and rocked side to side so gleefully that Sans thought she was going to keel over. “Everything I said to His M-Majesty was true, b-but there’s n-no way your magic could be interchangeable unless your SOULs had developed an incredibly strong b-b-bond!” Something like a tiny squeal. “I c-can’t b-believe this! You’ve g-g-got to promise me to b-bring her here tomorrow so I can s-see it for myself!”

“She was gonna come visit you anyway!” Sans protested. “I’m not puttin’ a show on for ya, okay? You can just study her magic!”

Alphys dropped her arms and gave him a look that made him more nervous than the entire interview with the King combined. “What?” he asked warily.

She held up one claw, then pulled a small device out of her coat. It was a square of glass set on a rod only a few inches long, framed with stones in eight colors. The scientist rubbed the white one and held it up as the glass came alive, flowing and surging within its frame like a drop of oil on water. “Hold s-still, please.”

Sans allowed Alphys to peer through the glass to check his SOUL, wishing more than ever that he could see it for himself. “How’s it lookin’?” he inquired carelessly, fooling neither of them. “What’s my LV?” A remarkably stupid question: it had been 20 for four or five years now, and LV didn't go any higher than that.

The scientist stared for so long that Sans had to reach down and tap her on the head. “Hellooo? Alphys? Ya there?”

Alphys didn’t move, except to say, faintly, “It’s 17.”

A very long pause. “I must be misunderstandin’ something,” Sans finally rumbled, “‘cause yer makin’ it sound like I _lost_ a few LV. That doesn’t happen.”

“Be honest,” said Alphys, still staring. “How many p-people did you k-k-kill when you were with the h-humans?”

“Uh…one. Just…one. Someone who was tryin’ really hard ta murder her right in front’a me.” It was true, no matter how hard he thought about it. He hadn’t killed that group of poachers on his way back from bringing Snowdrake to the Underground, or even the fucking bastard who’d said something about her and called him names right to his face. “What does it matter? How would I even lose EXP? It’s not like I un-killed anyone!”

Alphys was starting to grin again. “I, er, w-won’t ask too many p-p-personal questions, but…do you feel… _nicer_ when y-you’re around her?”

Sans scowled, but it was hard to keep up. “Are you sayin’ I’m gettin’ so mushy that it’s knockin’ my LV down? Remember the part where that’s literally impossible?!”

“These don’t l-lie, Sans.” The scientist waved the device at him. Sobering, she said, “I don’t th-think we should mention this to Asgore. He’s still a little, um, t-touchy about humans and m-m-monsters.”

“Agreed,” Sans mumbled.

She grimaced, and fiddled with the device, staring at the ground. “Um...d-does she still like p-plays? At all?”

Sans didn't know what to say. “If it'd make you happy, then yeah, I guess she does.”

“Hmm. I think y-you're probably right.” Alphys smiled in a quiet way he didn't usually see, then gave him that knowing look again, tucking the glass back into her coat. “I have a p-proposition for you. Just let me track your LV when you come here with Frisk tomorrow, and I won’t s-say anything strange to her about your SOULs. D-deal?”

He didn’t bother accusing her of blackmail: it was blackmail. Sans tried to look very scary, but she just folded her stubby arms at him until he stood up, said, “It’s too fuckin’ hot out here. See ya,” and was gone.

~

“Wow,” said Undyne. “That’s…wow.”

“Indeed,” murmured Toriel. She took another bite of apple, dabbing her mouth with the household’s single clean napkin. “You opened the box, and reclaimed your memories?”

Frisk nodded, cheeks glowing. “It’s been very hard,” she said, unable to keep a little quaver out of her voice.

This was honestly not what she'd had in mind. She'd planned to tell Toriel everything that had happened with Sans, explaining her mission and her plans for humans and monsters, and what a peaceful future could look like; instead, the former Queen had asked a few questions about her personal life, and now Frisk couldn't stop talking about it.

Toriel took her hand, breaking her out of her guilty thoughts, and Frisk smiled at her gratefully. “I think I’ve cried more in the past week or so than I have in the past year,” the priestess confessed. _Not to mention more hugs in the last three weeks than the past three years._ “So far, the second fortune seems to be coming true. Making it to the Underground was one of the hardest parts, so we’ll see how my plan might work from here on. And…” She coughed. “I’m not ashamed of what else might happen, I just…”

The air in the room got a little more heavy, the silence more complicated. They were sitting around the table in the chairs Undyne had charged out to grab from someone else’s house; Frisk had been feeling so emotional in general, and so grateful to have two other women to confide in, that she’d told them nearly everything, including the fortunes and the bit about having a child very soon. Undyne was visibly working up to the giant, inevitable question of “Who?” when the boss monster shook her head. “I hope, Frisk, that you’ll think very carefully before you make any decisions of that magnitude,” Toriel said disapprovingly.

Frisk was about to answer when all three women stopped, looked at the kitchen, glanced at each other, and did a sort of collective shrug. Toriel cleared her throat. “Besides abstinence, of course, do you know the steps you should take in order to avoid that outcome?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Frisk replied. Undyne looked lost, but Frisk wasn’t in the mood to explain human biology and birth control—it was awkward enough having to say why she needed to bring her bag with her to the bathroom. She also planned to never ask Toriel whether she thought a run-of-the-mill contraceptive would be sufficient against a boss monster’s magic.

“Well,” Undyne said firmly, moving on, “if it’s a big damn family you want, we’re not going anywhere.”

“Stop it, or I’m going to cry again,” Frisk scolded her, and they chuckled.

There was a more comfortable silence as they finished the last of the apples. “I hope this goes without saying, but if there is anything I can do for you while you are here, my child, you need only ask,” Toriel said, dabbing at her fur again.

“Actually,” said Frisk, “I would like a favor. We brought two wagons with us. One of them has gifts for everyone, and the other has a few provisions and my herbal supplies. Could you please check whether they’ve been inspected, and when we can go unload them?”

Toriel hesitated. Frisk understood why: it was a more official duty than Toriel had performed in a while. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” the human said, “but…”

“For you, dear, I will.” The boss monster sighed deeply. “I’d better do so now.” She folded the napkin and pushed her chair back. “Will you take her home with you, Captain?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I—” Undyne’s face fell. “Oh. Uh. Actually, my house is…”

Toriel sighed again. Frisk couldn’t help grinning. “Did you burn it down, or wreck it?”

“It was a training exercise that got too awesome,” the Captain said proudly. “I regret nothing! But, uh, I don’t have a house. I’ve been crashing with Papyrus.” She thumped the table. “Don’t worry, Frisk, I’ll stick with you. I’d do it even if His Majesty hadn’t ordered me to!”

Frisk winced, recalling what Sans had told her about the royal pair’s falling-out. A moment later, the fish monster caught herself and also winced.

Sure enough, the former Queen’s hands were now gripping her robe, her eyes distant. “Did he?” she inquired. “How typical. Heaven forfend he speak to you or protect you himself, my child.” The boss monster shook her head. “You may either stay here or at the inn tonight, but starting tomorrow, my child, I’d like you to stay with me in the Ruins. You’re very welcome, too, Undyne.”

“But—” Frisk wished she could stuff the word back into her mouth as the monsters looked at her curiously. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to say that that was too far from Sans. “We’ll see,” she said lamely.

Undyne nodded. Toriel studied Frisk for a moment before saying, “All right, then. I’ll check on the wagons before I head home. Good night, dear.” She got to her feet, giving Frisk another hug. “Sleep well, Undyne—” She raised her voice. “I don’t know why you’ve been lurking back there, Sans, but I hope you also sleep well.”

“Yeah, I know it’s your house, boss, but eavesdropping is creepy,” Undyne said in the kitchen’s general direction. “Good night, Your Majesty. It’s, uh…it’s good to see you again.”

Toriel smiled a little, and let herself out.

The giant skeleton emerged from the back room, grumbling something about privacy. “Oh, bullcrap,” the fish monster retorted. “It’s not our fault your magic’s so damn strong. A kid could’ve felt it when you came in.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sans went into the living room and stretched out on the floor, looking at them upside down. “I see Tori got my note. Must’a woke ‘er when I knocked.”

Frisk and Undyne exchanged nods of agreement to not tell him what’d happened. “How’d it go with Asgore?” asked the latter.

“Pretty much what I expected. He made me use a damn truth stone, but at least now he knows I wasn’t lyin’ about Frisk wantin’ ta help everyone.”

Undyne scowled. “That sucks.” She sniffed. “You know what? It reeks in here. I don't mind it, but Frisk deserves better. C'mon, pu—Frisk, we're going to the inn.”

The priestess glanced at Sans, who looked as irate as she felt. “Maybe—”

“That's great. Night, boss!”

It was no use. Twelve minutes later, Frisk was staring at her reflection in the hotel's bathroom mirror, listening to Undyne's energetic nighttime routine in the next room.

The human sighed as dramatically as she could, turning out the light. Oh, well. At least she'd be able to get some sleep.

~

Frisk was too tired to sleep.

For one thing, her brain just wouldn't stop berating her for not sleeping, and for being at all unhappy. She'd made it Underground! She was home! She'd hugged Toriel just a few minutes ago; Undyne was in the next room; the abused monsters were all safe with their families; Sans and Papyrus' house was in easy walking distance...

It was _wonderful_. It was everything she'd wanted so much as a child that she'd had to forget it to even function again.

...But she couldn't sleep, because she couldn't scoot over and curl up against her giant, grouchy apprentice, which he...probably still was? They hadn't talked about that. They hadn't talked about several things that they really should have already. She'd been exactly brave and tipsy enough the other night to convey her intentions, but that had been pretty one-sided. Just for fun, Frisk tried saying it to herself: _I gave him homework to do before he can have sex with me._ It...didn't sound better in her head.

She heaved a sigh and burrowed under the thick hotel pillows to escape her own thoughts. Could this situation be any more ridiculous? How many steps had they skipped in a normal courtship? Was it even a courtship if he was both desperate and terrified to touch her?

She didn't care. She just wished he was here.

Frisk must have dozed off like that, because when she sat up, the pillows tumbled off the bed. “Sans?” she whispered.

Something rustled by the door. The priestess fumbled for the lamp, but her hand encountered bone as he reached it first.

It should have been a lovely moment, but the light clicking on forced her to throw the covers over her head. Sans chuckled, giving her a little shiver. "Nice ta see you, too," he murmured.

Now Frisk was squinty _and_ self-conscious. There had been just enough room in her satchel for her oldest, frumpiest, most easily wadded-up nightgown; she'd also forgotten to pack a hairbrush, and the hotel only had huge, saw-toothed ones for monster fur. “What are you doing here?” she asked, sounding more petulant than she meant to.

Pause. "Leavin', I guess," he said in evident displeasure.

"No!" Frisk flew out of the covers and grabbed for his wrist. "I'm sorry! Don't—"

"Hey, hey, easy," Sans said gently, sitting on the floor and smoothing her hair out of her eyes. Frisk moved over on her knees to bury her face in the white fur of his collar, and he rested his hand on her back. She missed the soft, disbelieving smile that crossed his face. "Just wanted t'check on ya. 's kinda weird bein' back in my stinky ol' bachelor pad with just me 'n Pap."

"I bet," Frisk said, petting the fur on his collar. "I wish we could find another bed big enough for you. Mine's been in that room for a couple of centuries at the very least, so it's not going anywhere."

He snorted. "I don't think my room's even big enough ta hold it. The whole room'd just be bed." They both considered this, and he said, "Honestly, I'd be okay with that," to which she had to nod agreement.

It was quiet, except for the snoring next door. "Is Papyrus still asleep?" asked Frisk.

"Yeah. I hope Tori got the wagons taken care of so we can feed 'im tomorrow." Sans lifted both pillows back onto the bed. "I'd be okay, 'cept ya went an' got me used to eatin' every day, so..."

"I'm not sorry." Frisk yawned. She was getting hungry for something more substantial than apples, but knew better than to ask. It was impossible to forget the fear of not knowing when she'd eat again; she had to remind herself that she wouldn't die from missing a couple of meals, and that the monsters had been living this way for years. If she had her way, it wouldn't be for much longer!

Sans was playing with the ends of her hair. "So..."

"Mm-hmm." Despite herself, Frisk was relaxing, her legs complaining about having to keep her upright. It'd been a _very_ long day, and the little tugs on her scalp felt wonderful.

The giant skeleton nodded vaguely. "Alphys wants t'see ya," he mumbled. "She missed you, a'course, but she mostly doesn't believe me 'bout your magic bein' super-duper amazing." Frisk made a pleasantly indifferent sound. "And..." She felt him tense up. "You were right."

"About what?" she asked, opening her eyes, not quite looking up at him.

"Alphys checked my LV—ever heard of it?" She shook her head. "It stands for 'level of violence,' which is exactly what it sounds like. Monsters figured out how ta quantify it a long time ago, 'n mine's been 20 for years an' years. If it could go higher than that, I'd probably be in the forties or fifties by now. Well..." Deep breath. "It's gone down to 17."

"Hm." Frisk scratched her nose where a few white strands were tickling it. "Is it usually difficult to lower it?"

That must not have been the reaction Sans was looking for: he growled at her under his breath, withdrawing his hand. "It's not 'difficult,' kitten-pants, it's _impossible_. LV is what it is. There's no take-backs on killin' people. I shouldn't be so spoiled by livin' in a nice place with a nice lady an' nice food that I somehow got less evil. It doesn't work like that."

"You're not evil, Sans. You're not perfect, and you have done a lot of terrible things—" He grunted, and she persisted, "—but that doesn't mean you're irredeemable. If you were, you wouldn't care if you were evil or not."

He grunted again, which was not the answer _she_ was looking for. Frisk poked his sternum. "I think you're looking at it the wrong way. You've been absorbing years of accumulated negativity down here, haven't you? What if you've been...I don't know, negating it with better emotions, or maybe sloughing it off like Gaster said? Would that account for your LV going down?"

He just shrugged, and she retaliated with more poking. "Then tell me this: did you kill anyone yesterday, before Undyne attacked you?"

His massive ribcage swelled, carrying her outward and back in as he sighed. "No. One guy said somethin' gross, so I stabbed 'im in the foot. That was it."

She believed him. "And if you'd encountered him a month ago, would you only have stabbed him in the foot?"

The orange of his eyes dimmed. "...No. I'd'a killed him an' all of his buddies, no questions asked."

"All right, then." Frisk absently ran a finger down his ribs, pausing halfway down as he twitched. Was he ticklish? "That's another thing: if your magic's poisonous, why didn't I get sick and die when you gave me some of it?"

The skeleton laughed, short and harsh, nudging her hand away. "I barely even know how ya got it in the first place, sweetheart. Don't ask me why it worked or didn't work a certain way. 'm still not okay with just goin' for it the ol'-fashioned way an' hopin' you'll be fine."

That was the second time he'd called her that. Frisk's heart was in her throat. There was no wine or home-ground advantage here; she had to jump right in. "So..." She tried to sound playful, and was pretty sure she just sounded nervous. "Is that a 'no' after all? You don't ever want to try it? I know you haven't had much chance to practice what I asked, but..."

He had stopped moving—no breathing, nothing. The priestess pulled back a little. "Sans?"

"Then what?" he rumbled.

Frisk's hackles rose. "What do you mean, 'then what'?"

"I mean, what happens if we do it 'n I don't kill ya? Then what?"

It was a reasonable question, and she'd just been telling herself they needed to talk about it. Now that she had to answer, though, her mind was a roaring blank. "...Then...that would be...good?"

His hand flattened across her back and shoulders. "Yeah. At the very least, you could cross it off the list of stuff that's gotta happen for monsters t'go free. Sucks that gettin' knocked up is part of the deal.” Snort. “Maybe it's not too late ta find someone you'd actually want the kid to look like. You've still got a zillion guys ta pick from. There's, what, a month left before the timing starts t'get—"

The priestess pushed away hard, ignoring the pain in her chest. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, sitting back to stare up at him. "Is it supposed to be some kind of joke? Or are you saying I'd sleep with _anyone_ in order to make everything else happen?"

He blinked, realizing exactly what he'd said. "Uh. When ya put it like that..." The skeleton tried to shrug. "Heh. Nah, I was...I was just kiddin'."

"No, you weren't!" She jerked a hand upward and snapped her fingers twice, creating a bubble in which she could convey her thoughts at the proper volume. "I know what a joke sounds like, and that wasn't it!"

Sans scratched the back of his skull, bone grating on bone. "Fuck. I didn't mean—"

"You didn't mean what?" Frisk was too tired and hormonal for this! "What kind of shallow, selfish, irresponsible moron do you think I am, Sans?!"

"I don't!" The giant skeleton held up his hands, scooting back against the wall. "Wouldja calm down? Yer not dumb, or shallow, or whatever, and ya gotta be the least selfish person ever! Jus' forget about it, okay?"

"No!" She glared at him till he couldn't meet her eyes. "What _were_ you trying to say? Was it, 'Frisk, I am concerned that you're rushing a major life decision for both of us based on something someone told you at a street fair, and I would like to discuss the long-term consequences, such as the ramifications of a child being half human and half boss monster'?"

"Yes! Exactly! ...Pretty much!"

"Then why didn't you say that? Why frame it as me being a shallow, selfish, irresponsible moron?!" The pain in her chest was getting worse. "No, don't answer that! Here's a better question: are you really that insecure? Do you honestly believe that the only reason anyone could ever love you was because they _had_ to?!"

Sans looked as if the universe had crashed to a standstill. His eyes had gone blank, and his mouth moved a little, but nothing came out.

Frisk cleared her throat and swept her hair behind her ears, face burning. "I know you can't change how you think of yourself overnight, but until you do, I'm not going to sit here and let you insult me _or_ you like that," she said, soft but firm. "Is that understood?"

No answer. His gobsmacked expression didn't change; in fact, he wasn't moving at all.

Despite herself, Frisk wanted to laugh. Poor Sans. He hadn't expected that word, had he? Purely to snap him out of it, the priestess said, "If you really can't make up your mind, then tell me so I _can_ find someone e—"

_"No!"_

It was Frisk's turn to sit very still as the echoes died away. The boss monster glanced up at the barrier. He shook his head violently, scrubbed his face in both hands, and let his head drop back against the wall. "Look, I'm...I didn't think I was still so damn scared, okay? I thought I was gettin' over it, but when we're actually talkin' about this stuff, I—"

"You don't think _I'm_ scared? I'm the one who's having a child!" If she had to spell it out for him further, then so be it: "Listen to me, Sans. I'm not doing any of this because a fortune told me to. It just helped me figure out how to get what I already wanted. Do you understand?"

His sockets slowly widened, his entire skull reddening, and now _her_ face was hot again. "It's your turn to say something," Frisk mumbled.

Her apprentice rolled his head sideways, eyes flicking toward her, as if he'd scare her off by looking for too long. "So...ya really..." His voice faded and didn't come back.

Frisk desperately wanted to hug him again. Instead, she sighed, rubbed her breastbone – was it heartburn? – and summoned all her priestessliness to say, "Here's what I'd like to happen, Sans. We'll still be friends, I'll be your teacher, and you'll remain my bodyguard until we both decide otherwise. If you make up your mind and decide you want more than that, you need to tell me when you're ready. I won't bother you about it again."

Sans shifted his weight, but didn't answer. The priestess turned onto her side away from him, cuddling a pillow to her midsection—stress always made her cramps worse. "It's very late. In fact, at this point, it's very early. Please go and see if the wagons have been brought in, and have the gifts and the herbal supplies moved to Snowdin. The food can be distributed wherever it's most needed." She didn't hold in a yawn. "I'm going to sleep in for as long as Undyne lets me. We'll come to your house as soon as we're both up. All right?"

No response. "All right," she said. A click of her tongue, and the barrier was gone. Frisk got under the covers, rearranging the other pillow under her head. "Turn out the light, please."

Silence. The light clicked off. She heard him move toward the bed; something smooth touched her cheek, and without thinking, Frisk reached up and clasped his forefinger. "Good night, Sans."

His hand slipped away. Her chest hurt so much that she wanted to cry again.

...He hadn't gotten up yet. Could he tell that she didn't mean the calm, logical things she'd said, and how much she wanted him to stay?

No, it wasn't his job to read her mind, and at least one of them had to be sensible about all of this. Frisk stayed quiet, burying her face in the pillow as she heard him climb to his feet.

But instead of the whisper of magic taking him away, there came a shuffling sound and a soft thump, and another shuffle and thump; a whooshing sound, the smell of leather—the boss monster was removing his slippers and his overcoat, tossing them on the floor. Frisk sat up, trying to see him in the total darkness. "Sans, what are you—"

There was a strange feeling in the air, and a sort of grunting sound, analogous to a human trying to break wind. "There. Think I got it," he said after a moment.

That was strange; he hadn't moved, but his voice sounded much closer. Thoroughly confused, Frisk edged away as he sat down on the bed. The pain in her chest had almost disappeared, but she forgot to breathe as Sans shifted even closer. The mattress creaked, and his shoulder bumped hers as he reached across her lap, resting his weight on her other side and bringing his face just a few inches away.

Frisk's heart was thumping so hard that she couldn't think straight; she didn't understand what was so different about him until she reached up to touch his cheekbone, just below the light from his sockets. Suddenly, it hit her: she could spread her fingers and cover almost the entire side of his face. "You _shrunk_?" she squeaked.

Sans chuckled again, and Frisk felt light-headed. "Ya wanted me t'work on that, right?" He placed his human-sized hand on hers. "Ta-da." Pause. "Man. It's like wearin' clothes that're way too tight. Dunno how long I can keep this up."

Still in disbelief, the priestess rubbed her thumb across his nasal ridge, feeling his breath on her forearm. That explained why his eyes were only about a foot above hers now—it was convenient, but extremely disconcerting, to say the least.

"Till then..." He took her wrist. "Here's somethin' else I wanna try."

Frisk shook her head. "What do you mean? Something like— _yeep_!"

"Shit!" Sans dropped her hand like a piece of red-hot metal. "Did I bite ya? 'm sorry, I—"

"No! No, I just thought..." She tried to look at her palm, which of course she couldn't in the dark, wondering if she was losing her mind.

Sans let his head drop to her shoulder; she had the impression that he was getting ahold of himself before he sat back up and reclaimed her hand. Frisk tried not to jump as it happened again: he pressed her palm to his mouth, and instead of bone, she felt something warm and soft, exactly as if he'd kissed it.

She now had no idea what to say or what to expect. It was a huge relief to be drawn safely against him, his arms winding around her, stroking her hair and down her back. "So, yeah," he murmured into her hair.

At this size, his touch was a little less gentle than usual, not as light or careful, and he was holding her tighter. Her heart was doing the glued-together thing again; like every other part of her body, it reveled in being held like this, but it wanted her to move even closer and let him squeeze her harder. "Yes?" she managed.

"So...what all did you want me t'do again? Fix the size thing, make up my mind, quit hatin' myself?" The bones of his arms and ribs were starting to dig into her as his grip tightened. "Is..." He exhaled. "I still don't like me that much, so...is two outta three okay?"

Frisk's heart soared. She put her arms around him – all the way, for once – and let him bury his face in her neck, nearly crushing her against his ribcage. He was definitely hurting her now, but she didn't care—if anything, it wasn't enough. "Maybe," she said into his shoulder, playing with the folds of his shirt, which he obviously hadn't figured out how to downscale with the rest of him. "You don't have to be as confident as Papyrus, but are you willing to at least tolerate yourself?"

The skeleton shook his head a little, as if trying to rattle the words loose, then raised it enough to say, "I 'unno. 'm pretty lazy, an' it sounds like a lotta work."

"There you go again!" Frisk tugged on the shirt for emphasis. "You're not lazy. You've done so much for me and for the other monsters—would it kill you to do something for _your_ sake?"

A long pause, ending on a shaky sigh. "Can I start with yer sake, maybe work up to mine?"

She closed her eyes, melting a little. "Deal." It was incredibly tempting to tell him how cute he was, but she didn't want to risk embarrassing him enough to start a full-blown pout. And as long as they were doing this... "Would you turn the light back on, please?"

A short pause. "Don't wanna."

"Why?" Inspiration struck: "I know I look awful, but you can just close your eyes."

"Wha—what kind of stupid crap is that? You—"

"Ha! You see?" She poked him in a random rib. "See what it's like?"

"Ha, ha, lady," Sans growled in her ear, making her pulse flutter again. He shifted his weight without letting her go. "'s not you, dummy. 'Sides, I can see pretty well in the dark already, 'member? I just figure I look goofy as hell, all bones and then this fleshy stuff hangin' off my mouth. At least ya can't see my tongue when I've got it out."

"Your...oh." Frisk's face was even warmer. "So that's what that was." Well, that was good to know. If he was worrying about how he looked with lips on, then that meant he planned to keep them on, which meant...

"Yep. I figured it out from bein' human. Wasn't that hard." Sans ran his phalanges over her scalp, and stopped dead at the sound she made. "Wouldja knock it off? I can't think straight when ya do that."

"Do what?" A sudden, kittenish impulse made Frisk run her nail down the back of his skull.

He growled again, much deeper. "That does it." Before she could react, Sans' fingers wound themselves into her hair, metacarpals spread in a loose grasp on the back of her head. She swallowed very hard, but let him tip her face up to his and lean in. His mouth brushed her lips, the lightest touch—

Frisk made another small sound, and to her frustration, his head snapped up. "What's wrong?" he demanded. "'s not my fault I don't know what I'm doin', I'm just tryin' not ta—"

He stopped as Frisk took his head in both hands. "Nothing's wrong. Now do it again," she whispered.

With a blink, and a deep breath, Sans let her pull him down to touch mouths again, but only for a moment before he ducked his head and dropped both hands for the first time. "You know...maybe this ain't such a good idea." She'd never heard him sound like this—not angry, but so self-conscious that he couldn't bring himself to look at her, even in the dark. "There's gotta be other stuff I can do fer—"

"Sans," she said, and when his eyes cut back to her, Frisk rose on her knees, groped around for the back of his skull, and leaned down to kiss him so hard that he had to catch himself before she knocked him over. Whatever magic he was using felt real enough to her: warm and yielding, it offered just enough resistance for him to kiss her back as his arms came up again, almost shyly.

She enjoyed the slow, deliberate movements for several seconds, then paused, silently daring him to stop; she was almost immediately rewarded with a hand threading its way back into her hair, pulling hard enough for a _very_ nice twinge of pain. His other arm circled her waist, and Frisk scowled as his head moved down again. But a moment later, something sharp grazed her neck, and she cried out, grabbing blindly to keep him there.

Luckily, Sans seemed to have gotten the point. He chuckled, an almost predatory sound; something hot and damp trailed up the curve of her throat and along her jawline, his grip on her hair holding her in place so he could lick her neck again, and again, pressing his tongue hard enough to send chills and heat racing through her.

The boss monster let his teeth drift over her skin once more, a little edge of fear sharpening the pleasure. He nipped here and there, careful to lick anywhere he'd bitten too hard, until he misjudged and made her gasp aloud. When he paused to check on her, Frisk shook her head and leaned into him, humming the tiniest bit of encouragement.

That was all the invitation he needed: the world spun as Sans lowered her to the mattress, shoving the pillows aside and discreetly hitching up his baggy trousers. Frisk allowed him to settle himself most of the way on top of her, breathing deeply into the crook of her neck and giving it a few gentle laps. "You didn't mean it, didja?" he said, barely audible.

The priestess swallowed, trying to remember what the hell he was talking about. "I don't—"

He nuzzled her cheek, his phalanges tracing her collarbone. "I know ya didn't really mean it, findin' someone else if I couldn't make up my mind, 's just kinda..."

Frisk sighed impatiently. "I meant literally everything I said except for that."

Tap, tap went his fingers on her shoulder. "Everythin', huh?"

"All of it." Frisk rested her cheek on him. Compared to the incident in the bathroom, when all that had set him off was a glimpse of bare skin, he seemed in complete control of himself; maybe that was another reason he'd wanted the lights off. Either way, she wondered what would happen now. Was he going to go back to his house right away? Cuddle with her till Undyne got up? At this time of the month, it wasn't as if they could—

"'Kay," said Sans, with a different note in his voice. He shifted upward and kissed her again, more confident. Frisk started to speak, but forgot it when his tongue flicked against her lower lip, his hand working its way under her head. Her arms draped around his shoulders as her lips parted, and the feeling of his tongue sliding into her mouth made her whole body turn to plaster itself against him.

Letting him taste her was so absorbing that it took Frisk a minute to realize what his other hand was doing. The backs of his fingers stroked down her neck and along her collarbone, but they didn't stop there; his phalanges deliberately traced the side of her breast, and she was tingling in anticipation when his hand kept right on going to her waist, reaching under her thigh to pull it up so he could—

Frisk went rigid and shoved at his clavicle. The moment her mouth was free, she emitted a steady stream of "Waitwaitwait _wait_!"s that brought him up short.

Very reluctantly, he sat up, and she grabbed a pillow to hold between them as an extremely ineffectual barrier. "What the fuck?" the boss monster snarled.

She could have slapped him. "Don't give me that!" she snarled right back. "No one said we were going any further than that, and we can't right now!"

Sans was panting so hard that she could feel it heating the entire pillow. "Okay," he said, trying very poorly to sound reasonable. "Right. Asgore, destiny, can't get knocked up yet blah blah—"

Well, at least she was too angry to be embarrassed. "It's not just that! I've got my period, Sans. You know, menstruation? Did you come across it in any of my books?"

He blinked again, this time in thought. "Yeah. Is that how you say that word? I think I was drunk when I read about it." He shook his head. "So you're...what now?"

God damn it. "I'm bleeding from the exact place where you were going. It's technically possible to go ahead and have sex anyway, but I'm tired, and it already hurts a little, and it would make a horrible mess, and I would completely hate it. That's why the answer is 'no' for at least four or five more days, and then there's Asgore and destiny blah blah. Understood?"

Sans' ardor seemed to have cooled. "Yeah, I get it," he said grudgingly. "Here, close yer eyes."

Frisk thought he was trying to go in for another kiss, but a moment later, the light clicked on. From behind the pillow, she felt another strange pulse of magic. "There. Man, that's better." His clothes shuffled; when her eyes had adjusted enough to look at him, he was back to his usual stature.

She waited, very patiently, and he eventually glanced at her. "So...d'ya want me ta leave?" A beat of silence. "Forever?"

"Of course not, unless you want me to think that you're not interested anymore," Frisk said before she could stop herself.

Squint. Glare. "Is this another thing where you're makin' up stupid crap ta prove a point?" She looked away, and Sans smacked his forehead. "Shit on a brick! No, I'm not ditchin' you 'cause I can't get laid right this second! I just figured..." Squirm. "That was really...y'know..." He sat down again, face glowing. "'m sorry. Did I hurt ya?"

Frisk winced. Now that the mood was officially gone, her neck was starting to feel distinctly chewed-upon, but she didn't want to talk about that. "No, I just meant my period. It's normal to have some pain or discomfort as your body's getting rid of certain things. Basically, it's Nature's punishment for not having a baby yet."

"Wow. That sucks big time." Scratch, scratch. "So...what can I do right now to not get in any more trouble?" he asked slowly.

The priestess gave him a wan smile. "That's an excellent question, but the answer is that you're not really in trouble. If you hadn't stopped when I said to..." She drew a finger across her throat. "But you did, and the rest of it was...fine." She smiled wider, though she couldn't quite look at him. "I think we should go to sleep now."

“Agreed.” Her heart sank as Sans stuck his feet into his slippers and retrieved his overcoat. The lamp clicked off. "Don' mind me," he said abruptly, and turned onto his side, the orange light of his eyes fading.

Frisk sat there for a moment, then climbed over the second pillow, to where his head was resting on the floor. "Good night," she said, and pulled the covers loose from the foot of the bed to get under them from the wrong end.

There was no response, but she felt him reach over to touch her cheek again. She squeezed his forefinger again as his hand rested on the bed; neither of them quite let go as they lay back down, and both swiftly fell asleep.

~

_Bam. Babam. BambamBANG_ went the door.

Frisk jerked awake as light streamed in from the hallway. "What's wrong?" demanded Undyne. "Are you sick, or—"

There was a perfectly frozen moment as the Royal Guard Captain, in her fish-print pajamas and comfiest eyepatch, stared at the High Priestess, resplendent in her rumpled nightgown and a severe case of bed-head, and then at the bleary skeleton on the floor. Then there was no skeleton on the floor, only Frisk reaching for the lamp. Undyne blinked. "Uh..."

"Good morning," Frisk said, not being casual or sheepish, because why would she? "What time is it?"

Undyne scratched her neck, sweeping her loose hair aside. "It's almost eight o'clock. Don't expect me to let you sleep this late again." She glanced at the floor, as if doubting herself. "Rough night?"

Frisk looked at her, and she said, "Yes."

"That sucks." The fish monster came into the room and opened Frisk's satchel. "Not a lot to pick from, is there? You could borrow some of my stuff, but I don't think anything would fit. You're still pretty shrimpy."

"I'd argue if I could." Frisk yawned. "I'll see if I can go shopping later. In the meantime, I should have at least one clean outfit left."

Undyne did a quick, professional sniff test, locating the gown in question and turning to hand it to her. "Here. We've got a busy day. The wagons are ready to be unloaded, and I already had 'em take out...the food...for. Uh." Her eye widened. "That's...wow."

The priestess had been feeling fairly confident that she'd avoided any awkward questions for the moment, though she was dreading the hints Undyne would drop when they got to Sans' house; that wisp of security evaporated under the Captain's stare. "Wow," she said again. "I...damn! Seriously?!"

Frisk had no idea what she—oh. Oh, God. Oh, no. No no no no no—

Undyne had the decency to let Frisk run to the bathroom and stare at herself in the mirror for the count of twenty; then she sauntered in, allowing the human time to snatch her collar up to her chin. "Yep," said Undyne. "Here's your dress." She set it on the counter.

Frisk had another pathetic little hope that that was it, until she glanced in the mirror and saw that her friend's face was completely contorted with the effort of not grinning her giant, toothy, giant grin all over the place. "Really?" Undyne asked rhetorically.

"Shut up." Frisk stared dully at the bruises and occasional tooth mark ringing her neck. "Please, please shut up."

"Pffft! Like I have to say anything!"

"Shut _up_ , please!"

Undyne was shaking her head, not as a threat so much as sheer disbelief. "I—seriously? No offense, but, _Sans_? I don't believe this!" Her grin faded a little. "Well...” She shrugged. “Not that it's anyone else's business, but just so you know, this is gonna mess some people up pretty bad." The grin faded to a smirk. "There's no way we can tell Her Majesty about this, or she'll turn him into a million toothpicks." It faded a little more. "I dunno how serious you guys are, but..." The smile was gone. "I don't think His Majesty would take it that well."

"Undyne, _please_ don't tell anyone yet," Frisk said urgently. "Sans and I agreed not to let things get too far before I've spoken to Asgore about a peace treaty, and don't give me that look! This _is_ as far as we got!"

The Captain held up her hands. "All right! All right! I know how serious you are about makin' peace, and about all of us. I won't mess that up." She straightened and gave a sort of salute, looking very stern in her pajamas and comfy eyepatch. "My lips are sealed."

The High Priestess nodded. "Thank you." She examined her neck again in the mirror. Undyne closed the door, still shaking her head; when she was gone, Frisk finally permitted herself to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a short break to let my carpal tunnel subside. See you in a couple of weeks!


	15. Exchanges

_Frisk wiped the sweat from her forehead and clutched the envelope tighter as she crept over the last "bridge." The monsters in Hotland were supposed to have disarmed all the traps and puzzles for the humans’ visit, but they had replaced them with a bunch of regular wooden planks, not bothering with supports or railings to keep people from falling into the lava._

_There! She was across. Puffing a little in the heat, Frisk trotted up the ramp and saw the doctor’s laboratory – helpfully labeled “LAB” – right where they’d said it would be._

_But no one had said there would be a crowd_ _blocking it. “…your very eyes!” someone was shouting from a stage in the main area._

 _It was_ _n’t very impressive,_ _just a rickety platform with one corner curtained off and a few musicians standing around. The only thing on it was a giant metal rectangle that rocked back and forth on a single wheel, with no human features except for strange, floppy arms ending in white gloves. Yellow and red lights twinkled in elaborate patterns on its front as it raised an arm and twirled in place. “No, you say? It’s not enough?” asked a tinny voice._

 _Frisk had no idea what it was supposed to be – some kind of loud statue? – and neither did the rest of the audience. The rectangle spun itself impatiently. “Well, then,_ behold!”

 _Just like that, the thing froze, and there was nervous laughter as it began to look like it was broken—until something darted out from behind the curtain and whacked it in the back. There came a_ POP _and a grinding sound, and the rectangle exploded in a plume of smoke!_

 _But before the audience could work up to a proper state of panic, they heard a silvery laugh. Out of the smoke stepped a dazzling figure;_ _it was shaped like a human, but as the air cleared, the stagelights shone on a monster made entirely of bronze and steel, its features delineated in ivory. Sleek black lacquer served as hair, and it winked an opalescent eye at the gawking crowd. When they didn't get the hint, it raised its hands and tapped them together, then bowed graciously as the applause started in earnest._

 _This must be the automaton she’d been sent to find_ _!_ _Somehow, Frisk doubted she was supposed to get up on stage to give him the note; if she was, the answer was—_

 _“Yes!_ _” At that cue, the musicians broke into a swift-paced dance tune. Mettaton bowed again, then launched himself into a series of amazing leaps and twirls, hopping around the_ _little stage like an agile, attention-fueled clockwork toy. The audience cheered and clapped along, which seemed to put an extra_ spring _in his step, as Sans would say._

 _Frisk had crept closer and spotted a set of steps beside_ _the stage. She started up them on all fours, hoping to catch Mettaton after this song. A Royal Guard moved to stop her; Frisk showed her the_ _fancy seal on the note she was carrying under her armpit, and the cat-woman directed her to go up and wait behind the curtain._

 _The human did so, and immediately bumped into someone._ “ _E-excuse me,” another monster said apologetically. Frisk turned to see a stocky lizard with bright yellow scales, wearing glasses and a doctor’s coat; she offered a sheepish smile as the human child backed up. “I’m just here to m-make sure M-M-Mettaton doesn’t s-squeak too much,” the doctor said, holding up an oil can. "I hope he s-stops after this number so I can—"_

_The audience was applauding again, and the lizard gulped as Mettaton launched right into another routine, the musicians scrambling to keep up. Frisk couldn't help poking her head out from the curtain; she had never seen anything like the automaton, especially not this close._

_“I'm so g-g-glad that I finished him on time," the yellow monster said quietly, as if to herself._

_"You made him?" the child whispered back in astonishment._

_The monster looked_ _a little frightened, as if she'd been caught doing something wrong. "Um...just his b-b-body." She shuffled her feet. "It w-was nothing."_

_Frisk watched the automaton do a series of backflips ending in perfect splits. "That looks like a lot. It's incredible," she said honestly._

_”Really?" The lizard squinted at her to see if she meant it. "W-Well, if you think so..."_

_Out of nowhere, Frisk felt a cold sensation sliding down her back. The same way_ _one_ _has to sniff at something that looks rotten, the child had to peek out at the audience_ _:_ _sure enough, there was Chara at the back of the crowd, frowning up at the stage._

_As Frisk stared, the woman's gaze shifted until her eyes met Frisk's. Chara smiled thinly, and the child's gut knotted. How did—_

_Another grinding sound pulled Frisk's attention back to the stage. Mettaton’s ankles were starting to smoke as he moved faster and faster; to Frisk's horror, one of the joints locked up, and the automaton's heeled boot skidded across the stage, lurching him off balance. The little human had a panicky mental image of the poor monster lying in a heap, people trying not to laugh too loud, Chara rushing up to help because everyone was watching..._

_Maybe that was what gave Frisk the courage to drop the envelope and dash onto the stage as Mettaton came careening toward her. She grabbed the nearest pearly-gloved hand and swung him around with all her might, nearly wrenching her shoulder out of its socket._

_But it was enough: the automaton slammed his knee and his other hand into the stage and used the momentum to twirl back onto his feet...all in time with the music. The child didn’t have time to catch her breath; Mettaton winked at her with a little clicking sound and then caught her up to dance in place with him, setting her down long enough to let her pose dramatically._

_The first time she did it was just freezing up as she faced the audience, but they cheered so loudly that she tried it again the next time she came down, and the next. To her amazement, she wasn’t embarrassed anymore. This was_ fun!

 _All too soon, the song ended with a crashing flourish, and she panted happily as Mettaton held her arm up, prompting the now-huge crowd to applaud both of them. The automaton turned to address everyone, but Frisk was glad to stagger back to the side of the stage, where the lizard monster was waiting behind the curtain. “Th-thank you_ so _much_ _,” she said. Despite her scales, she appeared to be sweating, beady eyes fixed on Mettaton. "He's g-going to be s-so upset with me..."_

 _Frisk hated how miserable the doctor looked, as if she expected the automaton to blame her for the mishap because it_ was _her fault. The human tried to think of something to say, and spotted the note in the monster's hand. “Oh, you found it! Thank you!” Frisk cried, as if her life had been saved, and was rewarded with a shy smile as the lizard handed her the envelope. “Here, sir. This is for you,” said Frisk, turning to Mettaton as he came over._

 _Sure enough, he was scowling. "I was just telling the doctor how amazing you were," the child said as gushily as possible. "But, um, you're_ so _amazing that we're worried about you pushing yourself too hard._ _Please take more care so you can keep performing for us," Frisk finished._

 _The automaton blinked, his attention diverted._ “ _Why, thank you, darling,” he said, ruffling her hair fairly gently, “and thank you for your assistance! That was_ marvelous! _Any time you’d like to come back for another performance, my little beauty, you are absolutely welcome.” He gave Alphys a brief glare, then allowed her to creep forward and begin re-oiling his joints as he tore the note open, eyes flicking over the words with inhuman speed. “Ah, duty calls.” The metal monster smiled at Frisk again, working his ankles to spread the oil evenly. “I’m heading to meet His Majesty now. Would you like to come back with me, darling?”_

“ _Thank you, sir, but I promised the Queen I’d stay and meet more people in Hotland,” Frisk lied. She turned to the other monster and gave a half-bow. “My name is, um, Kris. What’s yours?”_

“ _Uh…m-my n-name?” The lizard pushed up her glasses. “I-I’m Dr. Alphys, the r-royal s-s-scientist. It’s n-nice to m-meet you, Kris.”_

“ _I’ll see you later, then, Kris!” Without further ado, Mettaton stepped out of the curtain and leapt off the stage, sailing clear over the astonished humans’ heads and pirouetting once more before he_ _pranced out of sight._

“ _Um…” Alphys was fidgeting with her claws. “So, d-do you like…stories? Novels or p-p-plays?”_

“ _I don’t know,” said Frisk, rubbing her sore shoulder. “I’ve never read any.”_

_Alphys’ eyes got wide, and wider. “C-c-c’mon!” she nearly shrieked. “Do I have s-some things to sh-show you!” And she was off, racing down the steps and tearing the doors to her laboratory open as though her tail had caught fire._

_Frisk started to follow, but another bad feeling crept up on her_ , _and she had to turn to look at the audience_ _, praying she wouldn’t see—_

 _Chara was still there, still staring at Frisk_ _._ _But this time, she wasn't smiling. She looked...thoughtful._

_Why did that seem so much worse?_

_~_

Sans lay on the floor in his room, flat on his back, his head spinning. For a long moment, he had no idea what'd just happened. He'd woken up and had to get away in a hurry—from Undyne? Because he'd been chewing on Frisk? That was a dream...right?

But if it was a dream, what was he smelling? The boss monster glanced this way and that. All he saw was his pile of long-outgrown socks, his too-small treadmill shoved against the wall, and the wadded-up sheets on the kiddy-sized bed. Sans grunted and turned onto his side, curling up with one arm under his head.

Then he blinked, grabbed a handful of his shirt, and jammed it into his nasal bone, inhaling so deeply that he almost sucked the material up into his skull. Ha! Frisk's scent was all over him! It wasn't a dream after all. Heh, as if he could've imagined her saying those things, making those little noises and tasting like—

Sans tried to leap to his feet, but he made it about a third of the way before he staggered and fell back with a butt-rattling thump. No good; he'd done too much yesterday and gotten too little sleep. That last shortcut had completely drained him.

It was just as well, when Sans gave it any thought whatsoever. He'd gotten out of Frisk's room fast enough that she had a decent chance of convincing Undyne he hadn't been there. It'd be about eight flavors of stupid to go back to her now, no matter how badly he wanted to.

And boy howdy, did he ever want to. The giant skeleton stared at the ceiling, fighting the urge to rub his face in his shirt like a damn cat. His tongue came up and ran slowly across the back of his teeth, remembering the taste of apples—she must've had some before she went to bed. He'd never be able to eat one again without getting twitchy.

In fact, he had a feeling that life was going to be trickier in general from now on. Being around her had been distracting enough before he knew exactly how soft she was, what it smelled like snuggled into her neck...

Shit. No wonder humans were such obsessive morons about this whole thing. Magic was already tingling throughout his bones, especially his pelvis, a helpful reminder that it was there in case he wanted to have his way with anyone; Sans had to bring his fist up and clonk himself square in the forehead to snap out of it.

...And it didn't even work. The harder he tried not to think of Frisk, the more irritated he got, and he also had a headache.

It was a profound relief to feel the house shake as the front door was thrown open. Undyne shouted something, and Pap's door also banged open; Sans had to smile as his brother loudly rejoiced at seeing Frisk. Footsteps pounded down the stairs, and a moment later, Frisk shrieked with laughter—probably because Pap had picked her up and swung her around, just as he had swung Kris around all those years ago.

Sans sighed. The stairs were too small for him, and he wasn't sure he could manage a shortcut to the living room. Maybe it was just as well: he was tired and cranky, and he hadn't calmed down enough to trust himself yet; better give her some time to get reacquainted with Pap first, before they started handing out everyone's gifts.

Oh, crap. She'd asked him to do something last night with the wagons, but he'd been too distracted by the other stuff she'd said, and too intent on proving that he could do stuff, too. He had spent the past couple days thinking it over while he was pulling the stupid wagon, theorizing that he could cram some of his accumulated magic back down and revert to a lesser height for _short_ periods; listening to Frisk whistle, he'd wondered if he could do that, too, and then gone off a long mental tangent about lips.

Maybe those self-adjustments had worked so readily because he'd had so much practice manipulating his other body parts, or maybe he'd just wanted it to happen badly enough. Maintaining his crammed-down form was something he'd have to work on, and he didn't know if he'd be able to do it at all outside the Underground and its ambient magic, but...

He closed his eyes, letting his body relax, ignoring Undyne's stupid loud voice through the floor. He was home, his brother was happy, they had Frisk here...

Some time later – a few minutes, or an hour – he jumped as the door banged shut downstairs. The boss monster wondered irritably if someone else had come in, or if they'd left, or what. Then, picking up at a random point where his mind had left off, he wondered whether his body felt as awful to Frisk as hers felt good to him. Was it like making out with a coat rack?

The only thing that saved him from another five or six hours of tortured introspection was the smell of pancakes. Sans shook himself, sat up, thought of the living room, and took himself downstairs, where he was met with...no one. To his disappointment, the house was now empty, save for a single plate and a note on the table:

_SANS! YOUR GREAT BROTHER (ME) HAS KINDLY AGREED TO ALLOW YOU TO SLEEP IN LIKE THE SLOTHFUL SACK OF BONES YOU ARE WHILE WE ESCORT OUR DEAR_

Another set of handwriting, much less elegant and more emphatic, had scribbled out _KRIS_ so hard that the paper was almost torn through, replacing it neatly with _Frisk._

_FINE THEN OUR DEAR FRISK TO GRILLBY'S AS A CONVENIENT PLACE FROM WHICH TO FURTHER DISTRIBUTE PANCAKES. PLEASE PARTAKE OF THE DELICIOUS BREAKFAST PREPARED WITH LOVE BY YOUR BROTHER, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AND CONSIDER JOINING U_

There was a trailed-off line where the S should have began, and a smear of ink as testament to a struggle for the pen before the other handwriting victoriously resumed,

**_We're at Grillby's!!! _**(Much smaller:) **_see was that so hard_**

 **** _NO ONE SAID IT WAS HARD, NYEH!! I WAS MERELY TRYING TO CONVE (smear)_

_**Why are you actually writing NYEH you damn goober**_

**** _WHY ARE YOU NOT_

 _**oh my god**_ (Much bigger:) **_SANS_** _**EAT YOUR PANCAKES**_

****

Sigh. Sans obediently picked up a fork, then realized no one was around, folded the stack in half, and shoved it down his throat. He remembered another time with a fork and breakfast being crammed in his face; little did he know then...

With his mouth still full, Sans abruptly stood up and gathered himself for to a shortcut to Grillby's—only for his magic to sputter and fizzle out. Dammit! Had he only gotten enough back to teleport into the living room?

Well, Grillby's might not be very far, but after the past couple days, he was completely sick of walking. He could just wait a few more minutes for his magic to regenerate. It wasn't like he'd die if he didn't see her right this second. Right?

He glanced at the fork again.

A moment later, he was closing the front door behind him, shuffling through the snow with his hands in his pockets.

To his surprise, one of the wagons was parked outside the house, most of its contents sitting on the ground. Aaron and Ice Wolf were busy moving packages into the shed; the only things left in the wagon were the crates of vials, seedlings, and other items for Alphys. Sans caught Aaron's eye, and the merhorse flexed nervously at him before returning to work.

Hm. Toriel must've told them to bring the wagons to Frisk in Snowdin, and then Undyne had gotten Pap to unlock the shed and made these guys unload all the gifts. Nice! That was one less thing to worry about.

Ice Wolf was setting down one of the last packages and climbing back into the wagon. Sans watched in sudden apprehension as the wolf pulled out a crate and trotted down toward the river, raising it over his head to—

It really wasn't Ice Wolf's fault. Apparently, he'd heard Frisk tell Undyne that the crates were all accounted for, and now they needed to go to Hotland; it was already his job to send things there by throwing them into the water, so he figured he might as well help with these, too. One flying tackle and a _heated_ discussion later about the difference between chunks of ice and irreplaceable scientific materials, the wolf monster was directed to the Royal Guards' ferry, which could transport the crates without anything getting waterlogged or melted.

Okay. That was one wagon safely disposed of. Time to follow the other one's tracks in the snow past the deserted librarby – heh, he'd never get tired of that – to Grillby's.

Sure enough, the other wagon stood empty right outside the bar, which was absolutely packed. Sans could smell why: for the first time in months, Grillby was serving hot food. If Sans knew Frisk, no one would have to pay for it, either.

Free pancakes or not, things were quite orderly. The monsters were waiting in a line stretching out the door and along the side of the building; the Royal Guard Captain could be heard directing traffic inside, and those without were politely ignoring Papyrus as he strode back and forth, instructing them to keep waiting. "SANS! THERE YOU ARE!" he said, cheerful as always. "IT'S GOOD TO SEE YOU, NYEHH! I WASN'T SURE IF THE HUMAN IN MY HEAD WAS ENTIRELY TRUSTWORTHY, BUT IT SEEMS SHE WAS CORRECT AFTER ALL! I'M SO GLAD THAT YOU ARE BACK SAFELY!"

"Yeah, I'm here," answered Sans, giving his brother a friendly nudge in passing. "An' speakin' of the human—"

"AH-AH, BROTHER!" Papyrus flung his hands out to block the doorway. "YOU MUST WAIT WITH EVERYONE ELSE."

Sans stared down at him. "What the crap, bro? I already ate. I just wanna get in ta—"

"IT IS A DIRECT ORDER FROM UNDYNE! NO EXCEPTIONS!"

"Well, you're bein' _exceptionally_ dumb!" He tried to stoop to see in the door, but to no avail: there was no room between the monsters in line and those leaving. "Come on, Pap! All I want is—"

A red-gloved finger stabbed up at him. "BACK IN LINE, SANS! NYEH-HEH-HEH!"

And just like that, for one second, Sans was so irritated that he wanted to pick his brother up by the spine and toss him aside. It took far too long to remind himself that he loved Papyrus more than life itself, his brother was just being himself, and Sans shouldn't pick him up by the friggin' spine! What was wrong with him today?

Sans shook himself, pulled a face, and started ambling toward the end of the line. The moment Pap's attention was elsewhere, though, the boss monster turned on his heel, speed-sneaked up to the doorway, tapped on a couple of shoulders, and said, "'Scuse me."

Somehow, no one else seemed concerned that he was cutting in line. A duck, a wriggle and a side-shuffle later, Sans was in the bar, ignoring his brother's orders to come back _that_ _instant!_

There were so many monsters inside that they'd had to shove the rectangular tables against the wall. Undyne was seated at the high table near the back door, keeping her eye on the line as it moved toward the bar; Grillby had set up a griddle and was silently dispensing one pancake and one blob of hash browns to each monster—not much, but it was still human food, equivalent to a couple of good-sized meals. The stools at the end of the bar were laden with plates, forks, and napkins, but almost everyone was ignoring them and devouring their food on the spot.

Where the hell was Frisk? Even at Sans' height, it took him a moment to locate her. But someone finally moved aside, and his SOUL leapt like an excited little dog at the sight of its favorite human. She was perched on a corner of the bar, tiny feet swinging, wearing her black cloak and a high-necked gown; an intrepid kid had wormed his way into her lap, and Frisk was petting his seahorse-shaped head as she listened to old Gerson. She said something that made the elderly tortoise chortle and whap the bar with his stick, and Sans tried to edge forward.

"Hey!" barked Undyne. The entire place fell quiet as the Captain got down from her chair and stalked over to Sans. "You shouldn't be in here," she scolded him. "Does this look like a good place to just hang out right now? Huh?"

The boss monster ignored her and glared at Gerson, who was occupying both barstools at that corner. Then he looked at Frisk, who was smiling at him, and he immediately forgot what he was mad about. He tried to think of something witty: "Uh." Shuffle. "Hi."

"Ugh! I know the note said we'd be here, but I didn't mean for you to come right in and—are you listening?!" The fish monster had to sock him in the radius to get his attention. "Look, doofus, if you're gonna take up space, do it over there!" She pointed at the gramophone in the corner.

Sans obediently trudged through the press of monsters and stationed himself near Frisk. Undyne followed him, nodding respectfully to Gerson. "So, boss. How was it, living in the lair of the enemy?" the Captain inquired, leaning against the bar. When he looked blank, she prompted, "How'd the humans treat you?"

Why was she asking this now, and what was that look she was giving him? ...Oh, fuck, that was right. She might have seen him on the floor in Frisk's room before he shortcut away, and was _fishing_ for information. Ha. He didn't know whether Frisk had successfully denied it or not; better err on the side of being dickish about humans. "It sucked. They're dumb, they smell weird, an' they all stared at me like a friggin' zoo animal," he complained.

Frisk shifted to look at him, and he quailed at her expression. "Excuse me," she said coldly. "Are you going to mention that you had your own room with a bed even bigger than you are, or how much food you had brought straight to you every single day? All you had to do in return was read and put things in bottles!"

"Seriously?" Undyne punched one fist into her other hand. "Didn't you have to fight for your life against terrible odds, or steel your resolve and withstand all kinds of torture, or something?"

"It was a feather bed with silk sheets," said Frisk, and Undyne made a retching sound.

"Wah ha ha!" Gerson thumped the bar again. "If you ever need another apprentice, girlie, sign me up! Won't hear _me_ complainin'!"

"Me neither," said the kid on Frisk's lap. To Sans' absolute disgust, the seahorse's curved head was snugged up under her bosom, the cloak tucked in like a blanket. Her hood was down, and in the bar's overhead lights, he was reminded of that fateful moment where he'd seen her clearly for the first time, the delicate symmetry of her features and the beautiful red tones in her eyes...

Sans didn't realize he was staring until Undyne coughed. "So all humans are gross and dumb, huh?" She scratched behind her right fin. "Well, if you had to get stuck with one, at least you wound up with Frisk. I mean, she's not _that_ bad, right?"

"Uh..." Fuckin' Undyne! Was she being sarcastic, or actually trying to figure out how he felt? If so, should he try to convince her that he wasn't interested in Frisk, or at least that he wasn't completely batshit in love with her?

...Crap. They were waiting for the next batch of pancakes to finish cooking, so the line had stalled, and now a bunch of other monsters were listening. All it would take was one idiot gossiping about Sans' interspecies love affair for it to get back to Asgore, who would lose what was left of his big dumb mind. Sans had to throw them off...but what could he even say?

Double crap. He made the mistake of looking at Frisk, who had picked up a fork from the bar and—god _damn_ it, she was looking back at him and tapping it against her lips! As if he needed a reminder that she was still stunningly beautiful, or to think more about kissing her. The seahorse was now asleep on her lap, completing the picture of a woman he couldn't hate any less.

Sans gave himself a mental kick in the nuts: he had to say something before someone noticed him ogling her. "Well...it...coulda been worse," he said, turning his head dismissively, "but you should see what she does t'books. She folds the pages up like a damn kid!"

"Oh, yes, I just loved having a ten-foot mother-in-law telling me what I could do with my own things," the human shot back. She turned to address the snickering monsters: "Not only did he get literally one hundred eighty square feet of bed to himself while I slept on the couch like a vagrant, he spent an hour in the tub every single night. I kept having to bang on the door and wake him up! And he has the nerve to complain about how I treated my books?"

The snickering increased as Sans' skull grew warm. Was she playing along, or was she actually mad? Why didn't anything make sense anymore?! "Yeah, well, you snore" was all he could think to say.

With unnerving speed, Gerson swung his stick up and around till it was pointing at Sans' sternum. "And how do you know that, sonny boy?" he demanded.

That was a good question, and the others were eagerly awaiting his response. Sans didn't have the guts – ha – to look at Frisk, so he just shrugged. "I could hear it through two closed doors," he said casually.

Their listeners chuckled, clearly buying it, but Undyne grinned wider. "Good thing he doesn't like humans. You never had to worry about him trying anything weird," she said loudly to Frisk, who was covering her face with one hand. The Captain glanced back at Sans. "Right? 'Cause you don't like humans?"

"Right," said the boss monster. Just in case, he added, "'m not interested. They're too...uh...lumpy."

"Lumpy?" Undyne repeated, voice cracking.

"Lumpy," Frisk mumbled into her hand, and Sans bade a silent farewell to his chances of making it through the day alive.

Gerson snorted. "Never you mind him, girl. I remember when you were even smaller, and you flirted with every monster you met—why doncha try it again? Promise I won't laugh this time!"

The human raised her head long enough to say, "No, sir, but I think you'd fall asleep before we got anywhere interesting," and the monsters roared with laughter, all except Sans.

"That's a fair point," Gerson admitted, once he'd recovered. "A doll like you shouldn't be stuck with a stinky old thing like me. Maybe one of these other fine specimens of monsterhood would suit ya better?"

"Yeah, I'm a fine specimen!" someone called out, prompting more laughter, and cries of "Me too!" and "I'm not, but I'll learn!"

"I don't think so," Undyne said flatly, to Sans' eternal gratitude. "Frisk has a lot of work to do, and she's not gonna be here that long _._ Anyone who messes with her on my watch is gonna be my new training dummy. Got it?"

"Agreed," the giant skeleton muttered. "Don't want anybody interruptin' her bein' a perfect princess an' fixin' all the world's pr—"

 _Tng_ went Frisk's palm on the bar, slamming the fork down and nearly startling Gerson onto the floor. "Don't _call_ me that!"

A moment of apprehensive silence, and then the line began moving again, the monsters whispering to each other and glancing over their shoulders. Well, it'd definitely worked, Sans thought, trying to get his SOUL moving again. No one would think anything was going on between them now. ...How was that little shit still asleep on her?

"Okay, okay," said Undyne, chagrined. "Geez. You're one to talk, _boss_."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Frisk asked suspiciously, saving him the trouble.

Gerson gave three rapid thumps on the floor. "Very true, Miss Undyne! Very true. Here's an interesting fact for ya," he said to the priestess. "When it comes to sowin' their oats, your average monster's not in any hurry, but bosses? They're almost as determined as humans! Wah ha ha!"

Frisk smiled weakly. "Ahh, I'm just funnin' with you. Don't worry about Sans," Gerson assured her. "Most folks don't know this, but romantically speaking, boss monsters ain't much of a threat to anyone. Sure, they've got that drive to have offspring, but they're too picky to do much about it." He waggled his stick in Sans' direction. "This fella's SOUL ain't interested in anybody weaker than he is. If he can't find another boss monster, he won't fix on anyone at all."

Sans' mouth fell open, and clicked shut. "Wait. _What?"_

The old tortoise cackled again. "Haven't you noticed, sonny?" he asked. "You're not interested in the ladies – or gents – 'cause none of 'em have enough magic to handle ya. Your SOUL can tell when you meet someone who might work out, and it ignores everybody else. It's instinct—keeps you from hurting a lesser monster by mistake. 'Course, the royals have each other, or at least they did, but..." His shrug was eloquent, almost pitying. "Not sure what to tell you, young skeleton. Hope you find a way to scratch that itch someday."

"Are you _serious?_ How do you know that? Why the hell didn't _I_ know that?!" Sans was too angry to notice how red Frisk was, or how wide Undyne's eye had gotten. "D'ya know how much I've been worryin' about what'd happen if I—" He caught himself just in time. "—got really interested in someone? Yer tellin' me that just _bein'_ interested means it's safe ta go for it?"

"Wah ha! It sure would!" Thump thump. "Ya really didn’t know? Didn't you get 'the talk' from Asgore or Toriel?"

Sans shook his head. He'd never talked to the King about personal stuff, and Toriel knew how much he hated being a boss monster, so she hadn't brought it up. She certainly never told him what to expect if he did find a potential mate. Sans couldn't really blame her; how was she supposed to know he'd meet someone like Frisk?

Gerson harrumphed at him. "Well, some of us remember how the King and Queen were before the Prince was born—couldn't keep their hands off each other! I had to have a talk with 'em about corrupting our youth with their bad example, and Asgore went on and on about how their SOULs couldn't help it! Poor Toriel wouldn't look me in the eye for a month afterwards!" He cackled yet again. "Not the sort of thing I'd go around repeating to just anyone, is it?"

"Yeah, well, I wish you'd repeated it to _me!"_

"How fascinating," said Frisk, tilting her head to feign curiosity. That wasn't fair: he _knew_ she was faking, and it was still the cutest damn thing he'd ever seen. "So I don't have to worry about Sans bothering me?" she asked innocently.

"Not unless you're a boss monster, too!" The tortoise had a hearty chuckle at that idea.

No one really joined in, especially not Sans, who was remembering his own words to Alphys. _"If humans had anythin' like boss monsters, she'd be one fer sure"..._

Suddenly, the little seahorse on Frisk's lap jerked awake, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with one long, hand-like fin. "Good morning," the priestess said kindly.

He yawned a weird little yawn, and mumbled, "Good morning, Princess."

Frisk stiffened. Sans resisted the urge to tie the kid in a knot as the human said, "No, dear. When Sans called me that, he was being sarcastic," with an inflection that made the skeleton wince. "I'm not actually a princess."

Blink. "Oh." Blink. "I don't get it. Aren't you Chara? You were here before, and Lady Toriel said—oww!"

Gerson had rapped the seahorse between the ears with his stick. "Pay attention, sprout," he said severely. "Chara died before you were even hatched. This here is Miss Frisk, you got that?"

The little monster mumbled an apology, ears drooping. Grillby saved them all from further awkwardness by moving over and crackling something at Gerson, who nodded and leaned over to whisper to Undyne, who stood up in turn and stomped the floor for everyone's attention. "Two dozen pancakes left, and we're out of hash browns!" she called out. "Everyone who hasn't gotten theirs yet, count off! One! Two! Three—"

Groaning arose as "Four," "Five," "Six" came down from the head of the line, ending in a triumphant "Twenty-four!" near the door.

"What the hell," complained the twenty-fifth monster. "I didn't come all the way from Waterfall to get screwed again!"

"You shouldn't have come to eat _our_ food in the first place," Dogamy snapped.

"Everyone was already lining up, and I was all the way at the back! So I came to get something for the kids—"

"Well, you should've thought of that before you went and had another one," Faun cut in. "It's people like you who're the problem, making more mouths to feed instead of helping the rest of us!"

"Oh, like _you_ ever get your lazy carcass out to work the fields! I'm trying to keep our race from dying out, and you—"

"No, _you—_ "

Someone shoved someone else, and in a flash, Undyne interposed herself between them. "Take it outside!" she ordered, addressing the angry latecomers as a whole. "Or, don't fight each other over something we can't control! Put some of that energy where it counts!"

"Like where? Going out to look for food and getting captured by humans like _her_?"

It was no use: more squabbles and counter-squabbles started breaking out, and within seconds, the place was in chaos. Sans moved in front of Frisk, knowing he couldn't trust himself to join the fray—he was already agitated, and it’d be too easy to kill someone by mistake. Undyne had no such qualms, and was dragging a couple of miscreants around in headlocks when an ear-splitting whistle brought everyone to their knees.

The only exception was the child on Frisk's lap. The priestess had shielded his ears with one hand, and was lowering the other from her mouth. "There's more coming," she said into the pained silence, voice clear and steady. "Sans has arranged to pick up several hundred pounds of food, two days from now. We'll bring it straight back here, and every last one of you will have some, including your families." Frisk gave the room a slight smile. "If I'm lying, feel free to eat me instead."

Before anyone else could speak, Gerson tapped the bar next to her. "Is it true that you're in talks to buy us that place on the river?" he asked.

"Yes, and we can improve your existing farmland in the meantime," replied Frisk.

Murmurs arose throughout the room, hope warring with skepticism. "Well," Gerson said slowly, "on behalf of the entire Underground, I've got to say—"

"OH MY GOD!" Sans and Frisk both sighed as Papyrus waved from the doorway. "CAPTAIN UNDYNE! THE QUEEN IS HERE! SHE WANTS TO SEE KRIS RIGHT AWAY!"

The crowd gasped, monsters hurrying to stand aside for Frisk; she waved away Sans' proffered hand, set the kid on the bar, and hopped down. "I'll be right there," she called to Papyrus, and walked out through the aisle, smiling at each monster in passing.

That was what did the trick, Sans thought, along with Pap getting her name wrong—good reminders of the warm-hearted human they'd known and loved. The murmuring started right back up again, but now the thoughtful or hopeful voices were much louder, the pissy ones silent.

The seahorse had floated down to the floor and was bobbing his way through the crowd. Watching him go, Sans wondered about Frisk's reaction to being called a princess. Not only _should_ she be one, as far as he was concerned, she should be in line to rule the whole damn kingdom. Judging from her performance as High Priestess, she'd be damn good at it, much better than her scrawny little half-brother...

Undyne had left right after Frisk, and the other monsters were filing out. When the place was nearly empty, Gerson muttered, "You've got to do better than that, son."

The giant skeleton shook himself and scowled at the old man. "Whaddya mean? I didn't attack anyone. I was just makin' sure nobody went after Frisk."

Another laugh, shorter and more cynical. "You're about three hundred years too young to play dumb with me, boy!" Gerson brandished the stick at him. "What I mean is, I don't blame you for bein' sweet on her, but you can't keep looking at her like that. For one thing, it's embarrassing! Wah ha ha!" Thu-thump. "More importantly," he said, sobering in an instant, "people 'round here have nothing to do but talk. No one's forgotten the whole mess with Chara, 'specially not His Majesty. Better not give him a reason to think history's gonna repeat itself."

Sans tried to formulate a denial, and also several questions, but then the old tortoise banged his stick on the floor again, this time to assist himself in sliding off the barstools. "I'd tell you to leave her be," he grumbled, "but if your SOUL's made up its mind, I suppose there's no helping it." A gross, multi-part sniffle. "That little lady, strong enough to match a boss monster? Ha! Will wonders never cease?" He adjusted his pith helmet. "Well, feel free to come see me in Waterfall, the both of you—but not till tomorrow! This was plenty of excitement for one day! Wah ha!"

"Hold up!" Sans protested as the tortoise started shambling toward the door. "What do you mean, 'the whole mess with'—"

Right on cue, there was a cry of "BROTHER!" as Papyrus popped his head in. "BROTHER, COME AND SEE! KRISK HAS BROUGHT PUZZLES! THERE'S ONE FOR YOU, TOO!"

Ah, the gifting had begun. Sans waved him away. "Tell 'er ta get started without me."

"REALLY? IF YOU SAY SO... OH! HELLO, SIR GERSON! THE HUMAN SAID TO TELL YOU THAT SHE HAS PEANUT BRITTLE, NYEH-HEH!"

"Ooooh," the elderly monster said, perking up. The moment Papyrus was gone, Gerson turned and rapped his stick on Sans' patella. "There you have it, boy! It's like my old mam always said: 'Gerson, if you ever find a girl who remembers how much an old fart like you loves his peanut brittle, you hang on to her, human or not!'"

Sans highly doubted that Gerson's old mam had ever said that, but he wasn't in the mood to argue. In fact, he wasn't in the mood for much of anything. Instead, he turned to the bartender as Gerson gradually left. "Hey, Grillbs. I’ve got a few minutes—what's on tap today?"

It was disgusting, he knew, but the simple fact was that Grillby had to stay in business somehow. When there was no food to serve, he could always sell drinks, and when there were no drinks, he had gotten creative—for example, the "mudslide" he slid down the bar to Sans was named for its primary ingredient and sprinkled with enough magic to…still taste like mud. But it was a drink!

The bartender wandered over as Sans downed the whole thing at once, remembering too late that he could have just put his tongue away and avoided tasting it at all. Clearly, he needed to drink a little more and get his head on straight. The skeleton gestured for another, and when Grillby crackled at him, Sans just said, "Don't worry, Frisk'll pay my tab."

The flames on Grillby's eyebrows rose higher, but he produced another mudslide and watched Sans gulp it down. "So," said the boss monster, "I kinda remember what happened with Chara, but my memory ain't what it used to be since everythin’ _blew up_ in my face." He held his mug out. "Wanna tell me a little more 'bout ‘er?"

~

"...and this is for you, too," said Frisk, placing another box in front of Toriel.

The goat monster shook her head. "Goodness, child, you shouldn't have! How am I supposed to carry all this back with me?"

"Make Sans do it," Undyne suggested, to general approval.

They had decided to tackle the gift distribution in stages, starting with Papyrus, Undyne, and Toriel, and were opening them in the skeleton brothers' living room. Papyrus was happily occupied with his first gift, an interlocking ring puzzle; he'd declined to open anything else yet, ostensibly to wait for his brother, but mostly out of impatience to get the rings apart.

"Speaking of which, where is Sans?" asked Toriel. Papyrus was already muttering to himself, the rings clicking as he began tugging harder.

"Who knows, Your Majesty?" Undyne had only a few boxes by her feet, and was doing her best not to look at them too hard until everything had been doled out. She brightened as Frisk set two more down for her. "Is that all of 'em?"

"That's all for everyone here." Frisk picked up the very last package, straining a little to lift it, and took it to the back room. When she returned, she said, "You can open them now, Lady Toriel, or wait until you get home. Since we're staying so close by, Undyne, I think you can go ahea—"

The Captain had already ripped open her first box and tossed the lid aside. She paused and squinted at an array of bottles nestled in white cotton. "What's all this?"

"There's regular moisturizer, waterproof moisturizer, burn ointment, treatment for scale rot, an antiseptic for small cuts, and armor polish," Frisk explained, pointing to each in turn. "I infused everything myself, except the polish."

"Thanks! I hope you don't expect me to remember all that," Undyne commented, bending to grab the next box and catching herself mid-rip. "Oh. Uh, sorry, Your Majesty. Your turn."

Toriel smiled. "Please go ahead, Captain. I—"

The box was already wide open. "Whoa!" It was a set of the "history books" Undyne had admired on the humans' last visit—the most action-filled comics Frisk could find, much more violent than the story-driven ones Alphys liked. She grabbed the top one and flipped through it gleefully. "Ha ha! I can't believe it! Are those his _guts_?"

"NYEHHH!" Meanwhile, Papyrus was now reduced to banging the rings on the arm of the couch. "HUMAN! I DO NOT WISH TO ALARM YOU, BUT IT SEEMS THAT YOU HAVE BEEN SOLD A DEFECTIVE PUZZLE!" He gave the rings a final shake and threw them on the floor, then plunked himself down on the couch, arms grumpily folded.

Undyne glanced up from her comic and snickered. Papyrus looked very hurt until his friend bent to pick up the separated rings, holding them over her head like spoils of war. "See, Pap? You gave it your all, and look what happened!" She threw the rings back on the floor and caught his arms to pull him up for a triumphant noogie. "I knew you had it in you!"

"Y-YES, OF COURSE! THE GREAT PAPYRUS CAN CONQUER ANY PUZZLE! N-NYEH-HEH-HEH! ...PLEASE STOP CELEBRATING MY GREAT VICTORY!"

"I believe I'll open something now," Toriel murmured, leaving Papyrus to extricate himself. She unwrapped the paper on the top box, peeked inside, and immediately gave a squeal of joy. "Oh, my goodness! My child, how did you—" She clasped her hands. "Are those real vanilla beans?! And—"

"I didn't know the exact recipe, so I got every pie ingredient I could think of," Frisk said, grinning at Toriel's excitement. She slid out the bottom box in the stack. "Check these next, please. I couldn't remember if you needed salted _and_ unsalted butter, so I got both."

"Yes, I do! But..." The boss monster pulled out tall jars of milk, buttermilk, and heavy cream, then looked at her narrowly. "I don't wish to be rude, but how long have you been transporting these? I know the weather is cold, but won't they have spoiled by now?"

"Not on my watch," declared Frisk. "I used a few preservatives—if you put a little in the jar beforehand, it keeps the contents fresh for up to a week without affecting the flavor."

"Seriously?" Even Undyne was interested. "That's pretty neat. Is this the kind of stuff you've been teaching Sans?"

"Yes, it is. He knows how to make preservatives, medicine, fertilizer—I brought the recipes and ingredients for those, too. You'll be able to save a huge amount of magic using them."

"I see," Toriel said slowly. She smiled, almost a grimace, as she put the jars away. "It may not have been under the best circumstances, but I am very thankful that he met you again, my child. His life has been very hard since...since the accident, and I have not been as supportive as I could have. Spending time with a wonderful friend like you must have been such a relief to him."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Majesty. You had a lot of problems, too," protested Undyne.

"Yes, but I..." Toriel was definitely grimacing now. "I suppose you're right, Captain. Still, I am very glad to know that he has been in Frisk's care."

Frisk was fighting another blush. Her neck still itched from the healing spell the innkeeper had given her for the “crick” in it before they checked out that morning. "I hope I’ve helped. I know what it's like to lose someone, and to feel alone. I've missed you all so much," she said truthfully. "I just wish it was safe for some of you to come back with us for a visit."

Toriel's golden gaze sharpened. "With 'us,' my child? What do you mean?"

"Sans is gonna escort her home," Undyne said quickly. "Also, she wants to bring some of our stuff back with her to show off, but she doesn't know how it all works. The humans are kinda used to Sans by now, so we figured he might as well tag along."

"That does sound like a good idea," Toriel agreed, and Frisk caught Undyne's eye for a grateful moment. "Would you like to open something else now, Papyrus?"

"HM?" The skeleton was playing with the rings again, figuring out how to lock them back together. "NO, THANK YOU, LADY TORIEL. I'LL WAIT FOR SANS. WHERE IS HE?"

Undyne was already tearing open another box, unasked. "Oh, no way! Are these targets?!"

"Of course! They look like wood, but it's actually metal." Frisk got up to look out the window. Where _was_ Sans?

"Who knows? Maybe he found a lady friend," Undyne said absently, flicking the metal discs to test their sturdiness.

"That's not a nice thing to say, Undyne," Toriel reproved her.

For half an irate second, Frisk thought Toriel was angry on her behalf. Then her brain caught up, and she turned to ask, "Why? Because there aren't any other boss monsters?"

"Exactly," said the former Queen, "and a lesser monster would not suit him. It's honestly a bit cruel to suggest that he—"

"WHAT ABOUT A HUMAN?" Papyrus asked without looking up.

Pause. "A human?" Toriel repeated as Undyne and Frisk glanced at each other in alarm.

"YES. HUMANS ARE PLENTIFUL, AND SOME OF THEM HAVE MAGIC! COULDN'T SANS BORROW ONE? FOR EXAMPLE, FRISK IS VERY—"

_"No."_

Everyone froze at the vehemence in Toriel's voice. The boss monster breathed in, and out, almost baring her teeth. "I...excuse me. I need to check that this is everything necessary for a pie."

Undyne let the targets slide off her lap as Toriel took the boxes to the kitchen. "What's the matter with you, Papyrus?" the Captain hissed. "Why’d you have to go and bring up humans? Don't you remember what happened with Chara?"

The skeleton's brow creased. "JUST THAT THE HUMAN PRINCESS WENT TO LIVE WITH OTHER HUMANS...WHEN WAS IT AGAIN?"

"A little over…what, twenty years ago? I guess you were probably just a kid, but still…" Undyne saw how intently Frisk was listening, and sighed. The Captain checked the kitchen, where Toriel was occupied with moving things around and muttering to herself, then beckoned them closer. "Okay, here’s the short version. A bunch of humans came to see the King," she said quietly. "They were here for a couple weeks, and Chara got really depressed after they left. The King wound up sending her off to marry one of the guys she'd met—didn’t you learn this in history class, Pap?"

Papyrus still looked blank, and the fish monster sighed in exasperation. "Anyway, she came right back here 'cause the marriage didn't work out, not sure why. Asgore had a _huge_ fight with Asriel and the Queen about whether Chara should stay here or go marry another human. He made her leave again, but she never got married to anyone, and she didn't come back until the visit where everyone blew up."

"OH." Papyrus looked at the reconnected rings in his hand. "WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH SANS MARRYING A HUMAN?"

There went Frisk's face again. "Because," mumbled Undyne, "as far as everyone is concerned, it all happened because a human got too involved with monsters—an adult human,” she clarified, nodding at Frisk. “The whole problem with Chara was that there was no one here for her to pair off with. Monsters can always figure out a way to combine their magic if they really want to have kids, but she didn't have any magic at all, so it wouldn’t have worked. Besides, humans barely even live sixty years. Asgore thought it'd cause too much heartache if she stayed."

Papyrus digested this information for a moment, then said at least part of what Frisk was thinking: "DIDN'T IT CAUSE A LOT MORE HEARTACHE TO SEND HER AWAY? THIS WAS HER HOME, AND THEY WERE HER FAMILY, EVEN IF SHE COULDN’T GET MARRIED."

"That's exactly what Asriel and Toriel thought, and they never forgave him for it. Then both Chara and Asriel wound up dead, and Asgore blamed every single thing on the humans. Then Toriel stood up in front of everyone and said it was his own damn fault for throwing their child out like a dog, _twice_ , and here we are now."

Frisk shivered. Those were Chara's words from the day Frisk hid in the living room and overheard those terrible things. As a child, she hadn't understood why Chara seemed to hate her kind, loving parents so much. _Poor Princess_ , Frisk thought bitterly, digging her nails into her leg. "Papyrus," she said aloud, "check your gray box. It's not a puzzle."

A moment later, Toriel looked up at a strange sound, like air hissing out of a broken pipe. She finished re-packing the pie ingredients and turned to see Papyrus holding up a bundle of dry pasta, some ground beef, various herbs, and a bag of fresh tomatoes. His sockets were the size of salad plates, and he was making a noise that could best be described as a pre-scream.

"Hey, would you look at that, Pap! You haven't made spaghetti in years! _What have you done_?" Undyne said through gritted teeth, ending with a glare at Frisk.

As expected, Papyrus paid no attention. He had just enough presence of mind to set the box down gently before he exploded into a rapturous, unbroken "THANK YOOOOU" that lasted at least two straight minutes, starting with a huge hug-and-twirl for Frisk, then Undyne as she rescued the human, and finally ending in the kitchen with "LADY TORIEL!!! LOOK!!!!"

"That is wonderful, Papyrus, but…oh, dear! Look at the time," Toriel exclaimed. "Ladies, may I expect you at my house tonight, around eight o’clock? I'll have a pie waiting!"

Frisk bit back her reflexive protest about Sans. "What about the rest of your gifts?" she asked instead.

Toriel smiled at her. "We can come back here tomorrow, of course! After all, I missed seeing Sans today. We don't need to stay cooped up in the Ruins for your entire visit!"

"AND IT MAY BE POSSIBLE THAT I WILL HAVE LEFTOVER SPAGHETTI FOR YOU, LADY TORIEL!" added Papyrus. "NOT THAT I EXPECT IT TO GO UNEATEN, NYEH! I WILL MERELY BE SURE TO MAKE ENOUGH FOR EVERYONE. I WOULD HATE FOR YOU TO MISS THE TRIUMPHANT RETURN OF CULINARY PERFECTION!"

"Yes, of course," the former Queen said kindly, eye twitching only a little.

The priestess hesitated, and Undyne stepped in again: "We'll see what happens this afternoon, Your Majesty. We've got a lot more stuff to give out, and Alphys wants to see Frisk, too. I don't know how late we'll be back here tonight, and it's a long walk to the Ruins—"

"That's what Sans is for!" Toriel said gaily, and Frisk felt a twinge of irritation. "If I come across him," the boss monster continued, gathering up the boxes of ingredients, "I will be sure to send him straight here. Until then, my child, please enjoy your stay. I'll see you this evening!"

There was no way out of it, so Frisk smiled and nodded and waited for the door to close before she said, "Dammit."

Undyne shrugged sympathetically. "It's a mom thing. Mine was the same way."

Frisk bent to pick up handfuls of packing paper. "So was mine," she muttered.

The Captain waited for more, but Frisk went on grabbing and folding up paper until it became apparent that that was all. Undyne shrugged, glanced at her unopened boxes, and shrugged again, reaching for the comics. "Just put it outside," she advised as Frisk looked around for a larger trashcan. The human sighed, draping her cloak over her shoulders as she opened the door.

Papyrus was puttering around the kitchen in sheer bliss. Out of habit, Undyne got up to supervise, and they were soon embroiled in a deathmatch against the tomatoes and noodles. "Higher! HIGHER!" the Captain yelled. "Remember! You have to break your foes' fighting spirit! Hear their cries of defeat and smell their agony!"

The skeleton clanged the wooden spoon harder against the sides of the pot. "YES! I HEAR IT!" he exclaimed.

"Yes! Good! You—" Undyne stopped. "Wait. I hear it, too." She went to the door, through which came a distinctive, high-pitched sound. "Oh," she said in disgust. "What the hell is _he_ doing here?" The fish monster reached for the doorknob. "Close your ears, Pap."

Papyrus blinked, spoon still poised for a mortal blow. "BUT I DON’T HAVE—"

Undyne opened the door, and the skeleton dropped the spoon into the sauce mixture as a shrill mechanical voice cut through the air: "I simply can't _believe_ it! My little beauty grew into such a _real_ beauty! What a sight for sore eyes amidst all these...these monsters!"

"Shut up, tin man," snapped the Royal Guard Captain, coming onto the porch. "I—oh! Hey, Alphys! Where did you guys come from?"

"From a place with _manners._ " Mettaton adjusted his fur stole and swept back his fringe of real black hair. "That awful skeleton said my little beauty was here, so I came all this way—"

"Do you know where Sans is?" demanded Frisk, who was still recovering from the shock of going to take out the garbage and encountering Mettaton instead.

"Y-yes," said the scientist, coming up behind the automaton. "He came to see me in a p-panic because he forgot how to teleport home. I hope he's still sleeping back in the l-lab."

Frisk stood stock-still. “He forgot…?”

“Pffffahahaha _ha_!" The fish monster slammed her fist into the side of the house. "Oh my God! I knew I should have dragged him out of Grillby's when I had the chance! He was drunk, wasn't he?"

Alphys just sighed. Frisk growled under her breath, which made Undyne laugh even harder. "He..." She choked back a sob. "He was _right here_ , and he walked all the way to...to..."

Pause. "I think he t-took the ferry," Alphys said, and moved back as the Captain collapsed into a snorting heap.

 _Oh, for God's sake, Sans!_ "Never mind. It's wonderful to see you again, Mettaton!" she said with unfeigned enthusiasm, shaking the automaton's still-pearly-gloved hand. His arms were much less floppy now, his body more streamlined, face smoothly outlined with tiny gemstones. Before he could launch into any further praise, the human moved aside and took Alphys' clawed hand. "And thank you so much for coming all the way here, Doctor. It means a lot to me."

There was that shy, scaly smile. "Th-thank you, um, Frisk. I'm r-really glad you're here." She chuckled nervously. "This is going to t-take some getting used to. But...you are v-very p-pretty."

Frisk smiled wider, and bent to give the scientist a hug. “Thank you,” she said in Alphys’ ear. “I’ve really missed you.”

The scientist mumbled something, then yelped as Undyne suddenly scooped them both up. "You know what else? This lady brought a buttload of presents for everyone,” she announced, setting them down on the porch. “Go on in while I grab your stuff!"

"I..." It was no use pointing out that the living room was about a third of the size required to open all the additional gifts, especially Mettaton's: Undyne was already charging toward the shed. "Yes, please, come in," said Frisk, leading the way inside. It would pass the time till Sans got back, she thought ruefully.

~

It wasn't his fault. Grillby had talked, and Sans had drank mudslides, and then Sans didn't know where he was anymore.

Everything was a blur for a while after that. He had no explanation for why he kept walking back and forth past his house, or how he wound up on the ferry, or how long he'd been lying outside the lab when Mettaton's rib-prodding woke him up. Sans had made it inside and found some nice cool floor to collapse on, and nothing else happened for a while.

Then a horrible, oozing feeling of dread crept over him, starting at the top of his cranium and trickling down till it hit his SOUL. He twisted to look upward at a familiar little pair of feet. The demon-child was suddenly peering down into his face, waving merrily, whispering, _“Good to be back.”_

And then it was gone. It stayed gone, too—no more fear, no nightmares, nothing. That was a relief, but a really weird one. The thing probably hadn’t even been there; it was just the mudslide talking…

The next time Sans awoke, he was alone, and any lingering apprehensions vanished as he looked at the clock. It was already late afternoon, heading into the evening. Shit! Where was Alphys? Where was Frisk?!

...Right. She was in Snowdin. Okay.

Where was Snowdin?!

Think, think. Snowdin: he lived there. It had his house. Sans took stock of his magic, which was doing well, and his mental capabilities, which could probably direct his teleportation now without getting him encased in solid rock or dropping him hundreds of feet from the cavern ceiling. The giant skeleton concentrated, and a moment later, he was back on the floor in his own room.

An odd smell was drifting up from the kitchen almost directly below. Dammit, he'd told Frisk not to actually get any spaghetti stuff! Oh, well, Pap sounded pretty happy. Where was everyone else?

A faint thud on the side of the house answered that question; Undyne was outside, laughing her ass off. Not long after, the front door crashed open and more voices flooded the house. To his surprise, he heard Mettaton and maybe a little of Alphys before Undyne and Papyrus drowned her out. There was Frisk, too, directing things—how the hell were they going to fit everyone inside?

The answer seemed to be a combination of Papyrus sitting on the stairs and Undyne smushing up against Alphys on the couch. Sans wished Undyne would hurry up and ask her out already; Al could use some non-fictional companionship, and the house could use a little less time with Undyne in it.

Should he at least come out and say hi, even if he had to stay upstairs and lean over the railing? But he didn't feel like talking to everyone, or making them feel like they had to find room for him. Besides, for all he knew, Frisk was still mad at him, just because he'd been a stupid jerk in front of people and then disappeared without warning for half the day...

No, better stay where he was for now, safe in his room, listening to them have fun as Undyne brought the presents in, and not feeling jealous or lonely at all.

Mettaton went first, because he was Mettaton. He also had the bulkiest set of gifts, including several bolts of _very_ expensive silk; the automaton was so overjoyed that he promised to have his tailors make a couple of things for Frisk, too, and loan her some of his new hair accessories. Sans just hoped he wasn't going to make her wear the literal paint she'd bought for his face!

Did she even own any makeup? He'd never seen her wear more than a tiny bit. Come to think of it, he'd never seen her wear anything fancier than that dumb, sexy purple dress for All Souls Day.

There was more mechanical jubilation from downstairs, this time over the sets of dance steps and sheet music. Now MTT was proposing a grand fete after the next shipment of food arrived and Frisk's measurements had been taken, perhaps toward the end of her visit. After all, she still couldn’t be sure that Asgore was willing to make peace between the two kingdoms, and whether the dance would be a celebration or a permanent send-off; more importantly, they couldn’t start planning till the caterers knew exactly what they'd be working with.

Sans smirked into the darkness. A party, huh? As long as it didn't remind anyone of the farewell gala thirteen-ish years ago, then whatever, Frisk would love it; he'd be careful not to stare too hard if she got dressed up. He'd seen plenty of fancy ladies at the castle, and he was sure he could handle the sight of any—

Cries of dismay came through the floorboards. The boss monster was ready to zip downstairs and start busting heads, but the furor died right down, and he soon pieced together what'd happened: Papyrus had come over to admire something with a plate of spaghetti in his hand, only to trip over...probably nothing, and Frisk had thrown herself between the silk on Mettaton’s lap and the flying arc of tomato sauce.

The good news was that Mettaton was offering to take her laundry back with him, including a stain treatment for her sacrificed dress; the bad news was that she didn't have anything clean to wear in the meantime. There was a moment of silence as they tried to figure out what to do, with Mettaton's entourage all the way off in Hotland and the shops already closed for the day.

Alphys spoke, and after another quiet moment, Papyrus yelled something, his footsteps tramping excitedly up the stairs, Frisk right behind him. They clattered around for a minute in Pap’s room, probably in the closet; then she headed to the bathroom at the end of the hall, Sans trying not to tense up as she walked by.

He must have made some kind of noise, because now Papyrus was knocking on his door. "BROTHER? IS THAT YOU? IF THAT IS YOU, COME OUT THIS INSTANT! WE HAVE ALL BEEN CONCERNED ABOUT YOU AND YOUR TENDENCY TO DISAPPEAR FOR LONG PERIODS WITHOUT BEING HERE!"

Sans cringed. Of _course_ Pap would be worried about him not coming back! Feeling like a complete ass, the boss monster got up slowly, yawning wide and rubbing his sockets as he opened the door. "Hey, bro," he mumbled. "Sorry 'bout that. I just thought I'd get some rest, didn't know I was gonna fall asleep."

"HMPH." Papyrus didn't just make the sound; he always had to say "hummff." "COME DOWNSTAIRS AND SAY HELLO TO OUR GUESTS. AND SPAGHETTI!! THE GREATEST GUEST OF ALL!!"

 _Oh, for God's sake, Frisk!_ Why had she—no, there was no use crying about it now. He couldn’t count on giving it away to anyone, either: even the starvingest monster remembered what Pap’s cooking was like. "Whoa, really? Lemme see," Sans said with enough enthusiasm to make Papyrus race downstairs to the kitchen.

The boss monster came out and paused at the head of the stairs. There was a small table in the corner at the foot of the staircase; he lifted it up and set it down next to him in the hallway, then zipped himself down to sit in the now-free space. God, he hated being huge. "Hey, guys," he said, pulling his legs up to his ribcage.

"What do you mean, 'hey, guys'?!" Undyne was glad for the excuse to put down her spaghetti, though it was difficult to find room for it on the floor. "What the hell have you been doing, besides being drunk and stupid?" She tried to stay angry, but a smirk kept showing through. "Did you seriously go all the way to the lab because you couldn't find your house?"

A beat of silence. "Yes?" hazarded Sans.

The only thing that saved Undyne from another attack of the giggles was the bathroom door opening upstairs. "Is that you, Sans?" called Frisk.

His SOUL went pitter-patter again. "Yeah, I'm back. Couldn't stay away from Pap's spaghetti," he replied, earning a soft “NYEHH” from the kitchen.

"I dunno, this might not be the right batch for you," Undyne said, loud enough for Frisk to hear. "The sauce is, uh, good, but it’s..." Snort. "It's..." Cough. "It's really lumpy."

More silence. It took Sans a second to remember why he wanted to punch her for saying that, and then _fucking_ Papyrus had to add, “LUMPS ARE ESSENTIAL FOR PROPER FLAVOR!”

It was quiet upstairs; then Undyne snickered, and Frisk burst out laughing, the sound echoing down the stairwell and setting Undyne off again until both women were near tears.

"Private jokes are for children, darling," Mettaton informed Undyne, nudging his own plate away with his foot.

" _You're_ for children," she mumbled, and Mettaton rolled his crystalline eyes.

“WELL?” A moment of crisis united them again: Papyrus was in the kitchen doorway, looking expectant. Alphys bravely twirled up an entire forkful and crammed it in her mouth, moving her cheeks to fake a smile.

They all fell respectfully silent as Papyrus went back to the kitchen, Undyne grabbing a glass of water for Alphys to help wash it down. "Oh, d-dear. Well, getting back to your idea, M-Mettaton," the scientist wheezed, "we should r-really ask His Majesty b-before we have any big events like that."

Mettaton clicked at her. "Oh, Alphys, it won't be anything excessive! Just a band, a few tables, every single monster in the Underground dressed in their absolute _best—_ "

"Like this?" Frisk asked wryly, coming down the last step.

Sans had angled himself to face the others, and he stayed that way long enough to see their reactions first. For some reason, Mettaton looked as if he’d swallowed a bug. “Really, darling?” the automaton asked distastefully. “It’s like wrapping a star sapphire in toilet paper.”

Papyrus, on the other hand, was absolutely delighted: "AH HA! I KNEW IT WOULD FIT YOU, HUMAN! SANS, LOOK AT WHAT I'VE HAD IN MY CLOSET ALL THESE YEARS, JUST IN CASE, NYEH-HEH!"

"I l-like it. If w-we ever had a costume party, that w-would be perfect," Alphys remarked, adjusting her glasses.

Undyne snorted. "Yeah, except he didn’t look like that up top!"

Sans had no idea what to expect when he turned his head. He’d just been imagining Frisk in a ruffly ballgown, and it occurred to him much later that if she’d come downstairs wearing something really fancy or weird, he’d have been fine. But she wasn’t, and he wasn’t.

Frisk was wearing his old clothes. The blue hooded jacket, the white shirt, the black pants with white stripes—there they were, wrenchingly familiar and yet _very_ different. For one thing, they were a bit too small on her; the pants reached the tops of her knees, while the shirt just barely covered her midsection. She wasn’t a lot taller now than he’d been before the accident, but as Undyne had immediately noticed, Frisk was filling it out far better than Sans ever had.

Her perfect figure notwithstanding, it also hit him that she was wearing the most shoddy, unfashionable, lazily masculine clothing possible – hence Mettaton’s distress – and she still looked like a princess.

"SPEECHLESS AT MY FORETHOUGHT, EH, BROTHER?" Papyrus had puffed his own chest out. "THE CLOTHING YOU WORE TO THE GALA MAY HAVE BEEN DESTROYED, BUT I HAD A SECOND, SECRET SET HIDDEN AWAY! DID YOU NEVER WONDER HOW I ALWAYS WASHED YOUR CLOTHES SO QUICKLY WHEN YOU WERE IN THE SHOWER?"

Sans tried to say "Sort of," or literally anything else, but too many things were crowding his mind, starting with nostalgia, and amazement that he'd ever been that small, with some bemusement that she was still so tiny. But that outfit also represented everything he used to be, everything he wanted back and couldn't have...and Frisk, who he was supposed to pretend he didn't want.

That was plenty of emotional crap to work through, and it wasn’t even his biggest problem. When Sans tried looking down to get ahold of himself, he found himself staring at the one thing that fit her perfectly.

“YES, I EVEN PRESERVED YOUR SOCKS FOR POSTERITY!” boasted Papyrus. “I HAVE ALLOWED YOU TO KEEP THAT GIANT PILE IN YOUR ROOM, EXCEPT OF COURSE FOR THE ONES I MADE INTO SOCK PUPPETS. BUT THOSE THAT I SAVED AS REGULAR SOCKS HAVE BEEN AWAITING THE DAY WHEN SOMEONE COULD WEAR THEM AGAIN!”

Sans made a noise. It could have been a disagreeable noise, or a polite one, or anything in between. He didn’t know, or care, because her feet were _right there_ , and his dumb old socks had somehow become the most erotic thing imaginable—and he could imagine a _lot_ of things. Sure, her feet had always been cute to look at because they were so small, but so was the rest of her. Those stupid goddamn socks were…more cute. A lot more.

Not for the first time, he thought of last night, smelling and hearing and touching, and wondered what’d happen if they ever got around to that stuff again with more lights on. He could handle seeing her, _or_ everything else at once, and literally no combination thereof.

Frisk was looking at him, wine-colored eyes wide with puzzlement. “Sans?” She raised one foot to scratch her other calf. “Are you—”

 _Noooope nope—_ The only thing Sans could do to keep from tackling her in front of everyone was yell, “Be right back!” and take a shortcut to the first place he could think of.

~

There was stunned silence in the aftermath. Alphys gave a faint, heartbroken moan of “Oh, c-c- _c’mon_ , he was right at the best part!”

“My, my,” Mettaton said slowly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was being…amorous.”

“Nope, no way, he’s just weird,” Undyne muttered. “He probably doesn’t have a thing for feet at all. …Geez, did you guys see the way he was _staring_?! What’s wrong with him?”

Frisk was beet-red. “Well, dinner was absolutely delicious!” she chirped. “Thank you, Papyrus! So, Alphys! Why don’t you open your gifts now?!”

By unspoken consent, they turned to watch Alphys pick up her first box, passing their plates back for Frisk to discreetly scrape back into the pot and shove into the refrigerator. Luckily, Papyrus wasn’t paying much attention; he was still staring at the foot of the stairs where his brother had been. “HOW STRANGE,” he muttered. “I REALLY THOUGHT HE’D LIKE THE SOCKS.”

~

One hour later, the clock struck eight, and Asgore jerked upright, staring blearily into the semi-darkness. Only the kitchen light was on; the fireplace was down to the last embers. The King of monsters retrieved his cold tea, threw it into the grate, and got up to put the mug in the sink.

A sound at the front door made him look up; a heavy knock made him scowl and raise his voice a little more than necessary. “Yes? Can it wait till morning?” he asked brusquely.

“I don’t think ya should, Yer Majesty,” said a familiar voice.

Asgore’s scowl deepened until he was nearly snarling. With great effort, he said, “One moment, Sans,” and tossed the mug into the kitchen, ignoring the sound of ceramic breaking. He took his time crossing the living room, and was in no hurry to unlock or open the door. “Good evening,” he eventually greeted the other boss monster.

Sans was a couple of steps down, putting him and the King on eye level. “Evenin’,” he replied. “Sorry ta be here so close to bedtime, but I owe someone a favor.”

Asgore raised an eyebrow. “A favor? What do y—”

“Dreemurr.”

The King stood as though he’d been changed to stone: not even his eyes moved as Toriel emerged from behind the leafless black tree in the courtyard. She nodded grimly, folding her hands. “I am here to say something to you about Frisk. Anything you say in return will be a waste of breath.”

No reaction. She nodded again and took another step forward, voice flat, eyes cold and hard. “You’ve allowed Frisk to be here, but I _know_ you, Your Majesty. You’ll let the rest of her visit pass without so much as a word to her, and you will let her go home empty-handed, hoping Stephin will forbid her to come again and save you further discomfort. Never mind the possibility of procuring food for your people and freeing our kindred from slavery, unless you—”

“Tori,” grunted Sans. “Leave ‘im alone. Get to the point.”

Asgore glanced at him in surprise. Toriel ground her teeth, but after a moment, she said calmly, “You are right, my friend. I will be brief: I wish to inform His Majesty that if any harm befalls Frisk for _any reason_ while she is here, there will be consequences…and that if His Majesty does not meet with her in a diplomatic capacity before she returns to the humans, _I_ will do so.”

Both men started. “You can’t do that,” the King protested. “When you left here—”

Sans braced himself, and sure enough, Toriel drew herself up till she seemed about thirty feet tall. “Do not tell me what I cannot do, Dreemurr!” she thundered. “When I left here, I ceased to be Queen, but I have not ceased to be _me_! You will not take another child from me, and I will not allow you to deprive our people of their last hope because you are too proud to admit your own incompetence! _Do you understand_?”

One more long, frozen instant. Asgore took a deep breath…

He slammed the door shut.

Sans coughed theatrically. “So. That…that happened.”

Toriel’s eyes closed. “Take us to Snowdin, please” was all she said.

Sans complied, letting her come up and lay a furry hand on his arm before he whisked them through space and onto the porch of his house.

“Thank you, my friend,” said Toriel. She gave him a tired smile. “I am so sorry. You wanted someone to talk to, and I made you take me straight to that close-minded, selfish—” The former Queen shook herself. “I…don’t suppose that whatever you wanted to talk about can be discussed in a minute or so? I’d like to collect the girls and head home now. If you want to stop by tomorrow—”

“Nah, the timing’s my fault. Don’t worry, it’s a short thing,” Sans said absently. He glanced at the door, wondering if everyone was still there, then ceasing to wonder as he heard several different voices at once and also some clanking. It sounded like they were playing charades. “It’s more of a thing I’d like ya to think over so we can talk about it later. And don’t tell anyone. Please.”

Toriel nodded pleasantly. “Of course, Sans. What is troubling you?”

Sans grabbed the doorknob, said, “I’m in love with a human,” and opened the door to boisterous greetings of “Sans!” “Where have you been, punk?!” and “SANS! THANK GOODNESS! QUICK, HELP ME EXPRESS THE CONCEPT OF ‘SUMMER RAINDROPS’!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! We're still doing a YouTube reading of Chapter 1, but we've hit a big old snag: we have no Frisk! Check out this [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ei7Avm8f8SU&app=desktop) (amazing art by the amazing sharkowskii, helmed by the also-superlative bouncyballblue, aaand a placeholder Frisk) for more information. You’d be opposite Supershadic X250 as Sans!


	16. Slumber

_Just like Sans’ discovery of her “stripes,” Frisk only found out she could make barriers because of Papyrus._

_They were playing in Snowdin, as they did almost every day. That evening, it was just her, Papyrus, and Asriel; Sans was nowhere in sight, which meant he was off napping somewhere. He did that a lot._

_Someone had thrown a ball and gotten it stuck high up in the town Christmas tree, and the three of them were taking turns trying to get it down. The Prince was being very careful, flicking little fire-wads to hit the ball without burning it; Papyrus was in much better control of his bone-throwing than Frisk would have guessed, able to tap the ball in any direction with near-perfect accuracy. Of course, he could have used blue magic, but where was the fun in that?_

_It became evident after a few tries that the ball was almost loose already, so Papyrus proposed instead that they see how many times they could hit it without knocking it down. Frisk put her rocks aside, watching the skeleton and the young boss monster nudge the ball back and forth on its perch. It_ nearly _fell so often that the child was soon standing right against the tree, trying to look straight up through the branches._

_“Come away from there, Kris,” Asriel said after his next turn. “In fact, it’s time to head back now. Mama’s got another pie in the oven. Would you like some, Papyrus?”_

_The skeleton perked up. “OF COURSE, YOUR MAJESTY!”_

_“Wonderful! Come along.” Asriel held his hand out, and the little human skipped over to take it._

_Then they heard the fateful cry: “ONE MOMENT, NYEH!” Papyrus threw one more bone to get the ball down, but in his haste, he aimed too high. It struck just below the decorations atop the tree, knocking down a great shower of powdery snow…and the heavy, pointed star._

_The crack of breaking wood made them look up, and they glimpsed the star falling just before the snow hit their faces. Asriel could have moved them away in time, but the cold flakes in his eyes distracted him for one crucial second, and Frisk knew the star was going to hit them. Asriel was going to get hurt! She felt something strange burning in her chest, and she yelled at the top of her lungs, wishing with all her might that they’d be_ safe _—_

 _The star went_ plink _off something, and Asriel’s grip tightened much too hard as the rest of the snowflakes settled to the ground. The ball came tumbling down a moment later, bouncing off Asriel’s shoulder._

_“KRIS! YOUR MAJESTY!” Papyrus’ hands were clapped to his skull. “OH MY GOD! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?!”_

_“Yes,” said Asriel. But then Frisk whimpered, and the boss monster released her, aghast. “Oh, no—Kris, I’m so sorry! Did I—”_

_Frisk couldn’t help a little sob. Asriel had almost crushed her hand!_

_Papyrus was also near tears. “I…I DIDN’T MEAN—IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN—”_

_The Prince suddenly looked stern. “Never mind,” he said curtly. “It was an accident. Kris will be fine.” He held out his hand, which glowed a familiar green. “Here.”_

_Frisk grabbed at the light, wiping her face on her sleeve as the pain eased into a twinge, then nothing at all. Why was Asriel—_

_“PLEASE GO ON WITHOUT ME,” Papyrus said wretchedly. “I DON’T DESERVE PIE.”_

_“It was an accident,” Asriel repeated. “But it_ was _a very easily avoided one. I think it’d be best if you stayed here while I have a talk with Kris.”_

_The skeleton nodded so hard that Frisk wondered how his skull stayed attached to his spine. “YES, PRINCE ASRIEL, YOU ARE COMPLETELY RIGHT. I WILL DO LAPS AND THINK ABOUT WHAT I’VE DONE.”_

_Puzzled, Frisk looked up at Asriel. “But it wasn’t his—”_

_“Thank you, Papyrus. That will be all,” the Prince said over her._

_The moment Papyrus had jogged out of sight, Asriel squatted and seized her by the shoulders. “Do you know what you just did?” he demanded._

_Frisk felt her eyes welling up again. “I…I’m sorry, but I don’t understand,” she whispered. What had she done wrong? Why was Asriel letting Papyrus think he was the one who’d hurt her? And why was he looking at her like a total stranger? Frisk sniffled again, more tears sliding down her cheeks. If Asriel hated her now, she didn’t know what she’d do!_

_The Prince let out a long sigh, head drooping. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. Come here.”_

_The child threw herself into his outstretched arms. “It’s all right, Kris. You did nothing wrong,” he murmured, patting her hair. “In fact…”_

_Something about the way he said it made Frisk’s spine prickle. But when he gave her one last pat and released her, he was smiling again. “Would you like a ride?” he asked cheerfully._

_Frisk nodded, and the young boss monster swung her up to sit on his shoulders, mindful of his horns. He let her grasp them in each hand, then turned his whole body to look around. Luckily, it was late enough that no one was out and about; even if they had been, the fallen snow had blotted out the flash of gold. Off they went, Frisk enjoying the view and their brisk pace._

_The ferry wasn’t there yet, and no one else was waiting. “So,” Asriel said, stopping on the riverbank. “You didn’t know you could do that, did you?”_

_Frisk shook her head. “What_ did _I do?” Remembering his reaction, she said, “I hope it wasn’t something bad. I’m sorry if it was bad.”_

_She felt him sigh again. “No, Kris, it wasn’t bad. You protected us both with a barrier.”_

_“A barrier?” After a couple of weeks Underground, she’d gotten the impression that barriers were an extremely bad thing. “But…aren’t they—”_

_“It’s true that we monsters are afraid of them. That’s why I squashed you,” he said sadly. “Again, I am very_ _sorry for that. I won’t do it again, even if you make more barriers.”_

 _She’d_ scared _him? Frisk hadn’t been prepared to hear that, ever. “But how did I do that? Don’t you have to have magic first?”_

_He chuckled. “Yes, you do, which means you have magic.”_

_Frisk wound her forearms around his horns, resting her cheek on the downy fur atop his head. He smelled like soap, and…perfume? She didn’t realize what it was yet: she was too distracted by the idea that she – dumb, boring Frisk – could do magic. That was for grand sorcerers and sorceresses, not grimy little kids who scrubbed pots all day and slept on the floor. If she had that kind of power, wouldn’t she have noticed by now? Couldn’t she have made her back stop hurting, or lit Cook on fire to stop her from beating the other kids?_

_“It’s a very special gift,” Asriel said solemnly. “Not many humans have their own magic anymore, and you have enough to make barriers! Nowadays, humans with that much power tend to be…” He trailed off._

_There was that funny voice again. Frisk didn’t like it at all. “Tend to be what? Am I in trouble?” she asked anxiously._

_“Of course not,” he answered. “But it’s important to know that you can do it.”_

_“Why?”_

_“For one thing, you need training.” The Prince tapped her leg. “If you’ve never used it before, you should have a_ lot _of power saved up. Also, did you know that it’s easier to use magic Underground than on the surface? That may be why it hasn’t happened till now.”_

_“Do…” Frisk squirmed until Asriel put a steadying hand on her back. “Do you think…could I stay here and learn?” she asked in a rush. “Monsters are good with magic, so…”_

_She couldn’t see Asriel’s expression, and didn’t know why he was quiet for so long. “No one here knows how to make barriers,” he finally said, “and I’ll be honest with you, Kris. I think you’d better not tell any other monsters about this.”_

_Disappointment rose up and nearly choked her. Not only did she have the one kind of magic monsters couldn’t teach her to use, it was the kind they were so scared of that even Asriel panicked when he saw it! Frisk pressed her face into the back of his head, sniffling._

_“I’m so sorry,” the Prince said quietly, and she couldn’t hold it back anymore._

_The ferry still wasn’t there. Asriel swayed from side to side, patting her leg softly, and she soon calmed down, trying not to get any more snot in his fur. “There may be something we can do,” the boss monster said, his tone so resolute that Frisk sat up straight. He reached up and put her back on the ground, staying at her level. “Who are your parents?” he asked._

_Frisk blinked. “M-my mama’s name is Rosa. She works in the castle. My father is dead.”_

_Asriel grimaced, but not in a sad way—more like he didn’t believe her. “It’s true!” she insisted._

_“I don’t think you’re lying,” he reassured her, lowering his voice as a couple of other monsters came up to wait for the ferry. “I’m just not sure that the grownups have been telling you the truth.”_

_She frowned. “But…why would they lie to me?”_

_“Why indeed,” murmured Asriel. Then the ferry rounded the corner of the riverbend, and the conversation was over for now. Everyone stood aside for Asriel, the Royal Guards bowing as he greeted them and Frisk took her favorite place at the very front. This time, though, she couldn’t enjoy the breeze in her face or the water splashing around the boat. It was too much to think about—she had magic, monsters would hate her if they knew, people might have lied to her about her parents…_

_Why did he think she had other parents? Was it something to do with her magic? Did this mean she had a real mama and papa somewhere waiting for her?_

_Asriel was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice her staring at him for several seconds. When he did, he tried to smile, but she wasn’t fooled. Something was wrong, or at least different, something very important. If only Papyrus hadn’t knocked that star down! They wouldn’t have found out she had magic, and Asriel wouldn’t be so worried or say these strange, sad things._

_Frisk was already tired of thinking about it. She’d just be careful not to get scared and use a barrier again. She wasn’t going to tell anyone, and she trusted Asriel not to tell any of the other monsters. She’d be fine. Everything would be okay. It_ had _to be._

~

“…isk. Frisk! FRISK! Hey—”

Two voices went “Shhhush!” and “P- _please_ be quiet!” at nearly the same time.

“What?! She’s just standing there like—”

“Maybe she _needs_ to just stand there like that,” retorted Alphys, uncharacteristically firm.

“Yes, I agree,” said Toriel. “Let’s leave her alone for now. Will you ladies please assist me in setting the table?”

Undyne muttered something very unladylike, but followed the boss monster out of the room, letting Alphys shut the door quietly behind her.

It was Frisk’s own fault. Upon arriving, she had gone looking for the bathroom and opened the door of the guest bedroom by mistake; the moment she turned on the light, she was confronted with a sort of shrine to Toriel’s children. Old toys and books lined the walls, the closet was half open, and miniature portraits showing Chara and Asriel in various poses were arranged around one large family painting on the bureau. Frisk had told herself that it would be hard to see the room they’d played in when she was little – mostly jumping on the beds, with a generous helping of The Floor Is Lava – but she hadn’t been prepared to see everything exactly where it had been, and especially not the pictures smiling up at her like that.

The others had found her staring at the bureau, a hand to her mouth. Frisk was profoundly grateful to be left alone: she sat down on a bed, grabbed Asriel’s old pillow, and buried her face in it to cry for a long, long time. Every time she started to slow down, she thought again of riding on his shoulders, or of him pretending to be scared when he discovered her in the golden flowers, and the pain was as fresh as it had been the first time she’d remembered him, just a few hours after reclaiming her memories.

What if she had listened to her instincts back then and told the Queen about her magic? Toriel would’ve known what to do. At the very least, she could’ve negotiated something on Frisk’s behalf with the other humans; Frisk would still have been forced to leave, but she would’ve had the comfort of knowing she had friends Underground, and that she could visit them on holidays or even have them come to see her. Instead…

Poor Asriel. Frisk had been able to keep from thinking of him by staying busy, and with the company of her giant apprentice, basking in his cranky, awkward, completely wonderful affection; now she couldn’t calm down, no matter how hard she tried to get up and turn away from the pictures.

A little voice kept nagging her to say something to Toriel now about the things she’d remembered. The whole tragedy might have been avoided in the first place if she had just talked to the Queen…but no, that was different. If Frisk, the would-be ambassador to the monster race, were to say, _“I have a solid idea of whose fault the accident was, but no details whatsoever,”_ what would that do for her mission?

It would reignite the debate over what had happened, with enough new information to destroy any trust the monsters might have in her, but not enough to bring anyone closure. She’d be better off going straight to Asgore and announcing that she and Sans were planning to create the world’s first human-monster hybrid! She might as well, the way Sans was behaving…

Frisk looked again at Asriel’s pictures, the white fur of his cheeks and his golden eyes, just like his mother’s. It had taken her a while to figure out that he only had those scary facial stripes and black sclera when he was prepared for a fight; they’d faded by the time they met Toriel on their way out of the flower cavern. Frisk glanced at the picture next to it, an older one of Asriel with his arm around Chara, and reached over to turn it around.

Footsteps in the hall. Frisk snatched her hand back, ducking her head as the door opened. Someone sat next to her on the bed, and a huge, gentle hand stroked Frisk’s hair out of her eyes. She looked up, expecting to see Sans, and started a little as Toriel smiled at her. “I know, dear,” the boss monster whispered. “It never gets easier.” She drew Frisk against her, squeezing tight. “You…you learn to live with it.” Frisk felt her swallow hard. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Frisk was getting so tired of crying! She shook her head, ignoring another stab of guilt as she wrapped her arms around the former Queen. Now was the time to say something about the past, or the future, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. For once in her adult life, _she_ wanted to be taken care of and told everything would be all right, and eat homemade pie, and have her first-ever _real_ slumber party, dammit! Besides, it was only the second night of her visit. So she allowed Toriel to pet her hair until her sobs had quieted, resolving to have a nice time for a single stupid night.

When Frisk was more or less calm, Toriel produced a handkerchief from somewhere. “Stop using your sleeve. Here, blow your nose,” the boss monster instructed, and the human did so. “There we are, my child.” Like a true mother, Toriel folded the handkerchief up and put it right back in her robe. Frisk tried to hide her disgust, but Toriel just chuckled. “I meant to ask sooner—aren’t those Sans’ old clothes?”

Frisk had to smile as she sniffled again. “Yes, ma’am. Papyrus spilled spaghetti sauce on my last clean dress. He had this in the back of his closet, so…”

“I see. I can’t believe Sans was ever so small,” murmured Toriel, tugging down the blue jacket. “Would you like to borrow something else to wear?” She brightened. “I still have Chara’s things. She was much taller than you, but her old dresses are—”

“No! No, thank you,” Frisk said, a little too quickly. “I…” She looked at the bureau again, then at the closet. Everything smelled clean, but not as if Toriel had come in and given it a quick once-over before their arrival; the room seemed eerily well-kept, like people still lived in it. “I forgot how comfortable boys’ clothes are. Could I please keep these on, or maybe wear something of Asriel’s?” Toriel looked disapproving, so Frisk added, “I promise I won’t let my tail stick out.”

The boss monster laughed so loudly that she had to cover her mouth. “Oh, dear. I cannot believe I’d forgotten about that!”

Early in her visit, Frisk had noticed how Asriel’s tail showed through a slit in his robe, but she didn’t realize that his parents kept theirs hidden until one family dinner when Asriel sat down the wrong way and nearly hit the roof. It turned out Asriel had insisted as a teenager that it was better to have one’s tail out; even as a young adult, and after several instances of getting it bent or grabbed or sat upon, he’d stubbornly refused to let his mother sew his clothes back up.

“Really, Lady Toriel,” Frisk said once their giggling had died down, “I’m fine for tonight. These are basically pajamas anyway.”

Toriel snorted. “Yes, they certainly are.” Sigh. “All right, my child, just for tonight. We’ll pick out something else for you tomorrow.”

“Thank you so much.” Frisk hugged her again. “I need to wash my face,” she said, freeing herself from the goat monster’s embrace, “and then I’d love to have some pie. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Toriel smiled sadly. “Of course, Frisk. We’ll be waiting.”

The priestess’ hands were shaking a little as she fetched her gray bag from the entryway. How often did Toriel change the sheets on those beds, as if expecting someone to sleep there? How much time did she spend alone in her empty house, staring at pictures of her dead children? How was the poor woman still sane at all?

Damn everything! Why hadn’t she told them about her magic when she first discovered it? Why had she let Asriel talk her into trusting someone she _knew_ was a bad person? How much of what had happened was her fault, and how much of her memory was even accurate?

To hell with it, she thought, turning from her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Time for pie.

Luckily, when Frisk came out to the living room, her thoughts were diverted by the sight of Undyne and Alphys sitting in front of the fire with their heads together. “Er,” said the priestess, and Alphys nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Hey there. Feeling better?” asked Undyne, completely unperturbed.

“Uh…yes, thank you.” Bemused, Frisk glanced at Alphys’ bright-pink scales. She’d always wondered how that worked—monsters didn’t even have blood. “Let’s eat now. It smells fantastic,” she said, smiling as the royal scientist made a beeline for the table.

At Toriel’s behest, and in keeping with what they assured Frisk to be sacred slumber-party tradition, the others had already changed into their nightclothes; the next step was enjoying the pie Toriel had baked before coming to get them. “This is amazing, Your Majesty,” Undyne said around a huge mouthful. “Thanks for having us over.”

“Yes, thank you f-for inviting me,” Alphys said to the table at large, adjusting her borrowed robe.

“Of course,” Frisk replied. “You still have a few things to open. You, too, Lady Toriel.”

The former Queen had been staring at her plate, and glanced up a moment later. “I…I’m sorry, dear. What was that?”

The Captain blinked, adjusting her pajama-wear eyepatch. “Uh…the pie is good?”

The boss monster nodded vaguely, and the three younger women glanced at each other. Toriel had been quiet and distracted the whole evening, ever since she and Sans arrived at the brothers’ house; Sans had opened the front door and teleported straight into the kitchen, leaving the goat monster looking as though someone had smacked her in the face and run away.

Every one of their questions thus far had been answered with the insistence that nothing was wrong, but Alphys tried again: “A-are you sure you’re all right, Lady Toriel?”

“Yes, Doctor, thank you. I…” She sighed, shaking her head and fluttering her long ears. “Forgive me. Where are my manners? Here I am with such wonderful guests, and I’m wasting time wool-gathering!” She grabbed the pie tin and dished out new slices to Frisk and Undyne, who had finished theirs, and then to Alphys, who was still halfway through hers and had to pick up the remainder to make room on her plate.

“So,” said Undyne, stealing the half-slice out of the scientist’s hand and cramming it into her own mouth. “Whaff our day loo’ like humorro’?” Catching Toriel’s glare, the fish monster swallowed the entirety in one gulp. “I mean, for tomorrow, what do we need to do? Finish giving stuff out, stop by Alphys’ lab, then go see that creepy metal jerk?” When Toriel looked puzzled, Undyne explained, “He took Frisk’s laundry with him so he could get that stain out, and he wants to measure her for more clothes. If we go there first, we’ll be there all friggin’ day.”

Toriel clapped her hands with a poofy sound of fur on fur. “My goodness, that’s right! We should go shopping for Frisk! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“It w-would,” agreed Alphys. “We don’t have to spend a lot of time studying y-your magic yet, Frisk. You might as well have some fun first.”

Frisk glanced at Undyne, half expecting an objection, but the Captain’s eye was alight. “That’s right! We’ve missed twelve birthdays and Gyftmases since you left!” She sprang to her feet, fists clenched. “And now you’ve brought us all this cool crap, and we haven’t given you anything!” Undyne grinned again, eye narrowing. “Fuhuhuhu! We’re gonna get you _so much_ stuff. You’d better be ready!”

Alphys smiled fondly, looking down at her pie. “What?” Frisk asked.

“Things have been so t-tense with Sans gone. It’s been too long since she did her evil laugh,” the royal scientist almost whispered. Her smile widened. “I really missed it.”

Toriel chuckled as Undyne sat down abruptly, scales tinted purple, stuffing more pie in her mouth. “Indeed. I am so very glad you are here, Frisk,” the boss monster said softly.

That was Frisk’s cue to say that she didn’t need anything, being here with everyone was gift enough…but she didn’t, because it _would_ be fun to go shopping, dang it. Besides, she’d given the monsters so much stuff that it would make them feel better to buy her a few things in return. “Technically, it’s closer to thirteen,” she pointed out cheekily. “My birthday is in just a few weeks, not long before Christmas. Or Gyftmas.”

“Really? That’s perfect!” Undyne gave the table a dish-rattling thump. “What day?”

“Uh…” Crud. Frisk tried to remember which date she usually used, but her mind was tired and mushy. It’d be easier to tell the truth, especially with people who wouldn’t judge her. “I actually don’t know the exact day,” she confessed. Maybe just one lie by omission: “My real mother is dead, and my foster mother wasn’t sure exactly how many weeks old I was when she got me. She could only narrow it down to late autumn.”

“Oh, my poor child,” said Toriel, her distress echoed by the others’ shocked expressions. “Can’t you check your birth certificate? Or ask your father, if he is still alive?”

Frisk winced. “I don’t think my father knew I existed until I was about ten. It’s funny you should mention my birth certificate—I’ve tried to track it down, but the only copies I’ve found were from people trying to sell me forgeries. None of the prints ever matched mine.” She snorted. “Rosa couldn’t even tell me which part of the city I was born in.”

Alphys looked ready to cry. Undyne patted her with one hand, and pounded the table again with the other. “Man, humans are the _worst_! Of all people, you’d think the frickin’ King would be held responsible for his own damn kids! How much did that jerk get around, anyway?! I can’t believe—” She suddenly stopped mid-rant. “Are you okay, Your Majesty?”

Toriel was staring at Frisk, almost looking through her. The boss monster’s hand had clenched into a fist, bending her fork into a strange shape. “Your father is King Stephin?” she inquired, sounding distant. “Are you certain, my child?”

“Yes, Lady Toriel,” said Frisk, hoping to get this over with. “He had fifteen illegitimate children, including me, and he started taking an interest in us when I was about ten. As soon as the delegation got back safely, he had me packed off to St. Brigid’s.” She was not going to let herself get weepy again! “Do you remember me telling you how I had my memories removed? It was partly because he came to see me and asked them to do it.”

Toriel gave her a long, hard look. “Do you mean that you were ten years old when you visited us?”

Where had that come from? “I…yes, ma’am. Why do you—”

“So you’ll be turning twenty-three this year, whenever the date may be?”

“Yes,” Frisk said again. What was going on, and why was Alphys staring at both of them like that? “Lady Toriel, what—”

The tension was broken by Undyne giving the table a two-fisted whack. “Let’s just pick a date and throw you a party! Mettaton’s doing that stupid ball thing before you leave, but we can do another shindig later! We’ve gotta make up for lost time!” She nudged Alphys, nearly knocking her out of her chair. “Right?!”

The scientist clambered back up, and said breathlessly, “Right. We could all use a little more f-fun.”

“…I like the way you girls think.” Toriel forced a smile. “What’s this about Mettaton and a ball?”

“He wants to celebrate Frisk’s visit with a dance,” Alphys answered. “So…”

“So he’ll make you do all the work, and take all the credit,” Undyne muttered. “That’s why I hate that guy. I’m telling you, the next time he tries to pull that crap, you should just send him to me!”

“That settles it,” said Toriel, sounding nearly normal. “Tomorrow, we’re going to pick up something nice for all of us to wear, especially Frisk.” She put down her mangled fork. “Dr. Alphys, it looks like we each have three gifts left. Shall we open them before bed?”

Minutes later, the living room looked as though someone had stuck a firecracker in a Christmas tree: paper was strewn everywhere, boxes thrown aside and ribbons collected into colorful heaps for reuse. At everyone’s insistence, Alphys went first; Frisk directed her to the biggest box, and they ended up having to politely take the figurines away from the royal scientist in order for her to finish opening the others. The second box was a stack of romance- and slightly-action-oriented comics, which Undyne immediately confiscated until Alphys opened the third package: the last two novels in her beloved _Adventure Lady_ series.

It took quite a while to work through all of the lizard monster’s squeals, dancing-about, and hugging of boxes – and Frisk – but she eventually wore herself out, and was persuaded not to start on the novels yet; instead, she and Undyne each selected a comic and not-very-surreptitiously started flipping through them while Toriel opened her presents.

Frisk prided herself on her gift-giving acumen, and sure enough, Toriel was overjoyed to receive a copy of _Educational Principles and Practice, Vol. 1_ ; they both laughed about how it should be _“Principals,”_ to blank stares and a mutter of “Nerds” from the floor. Next came a boss-monster-sized lambswool shawl, which she immediately draped over her shoulders as she tore open the last box. “How lovely!” the goat monster exclaimed, lifting out each of the little bottles in turn. “I ran out of bubble bath _years_ ago! Thank you so much, my child!”

“I made the moisturizer myself,” Frisk said, and was rewarded with a giant hug. She stepped back and actually pinched herself to confirm that she was awake, reminding herself to stop questioning her happiness and just enjoy it. And speaking of reminders— “I have one more thing for you, Lady Toriel,” she said, shoving down her apprehensions. “One moment.”

All three monsters watched her retrieve her satchel and pull out a folder, selecting a single sheet of paper. “Here,” Frisk said shyly, holding it out.

Toriel took it, putting her reading glasses on and tilting the paper toward the fire. “Sheet music?” The boss monster squinted at the title – “Home” – then examined the notations as Frisk held her breath. “I…” Toriel cleared her throat. “I am sorry, Frisk, but I cannot read music.”

“Oh.” Frisk deflated a little. “I’m sorry. I thought you could.”

“Nah, that’s me,” Undyne said, flipping a comic page. “Remember how you used to sit on the piano while I played it?”

Frisk did remember now. “Yes. I’m sorry,” she said again.

“That’s all right, dear.” Toriel gave Frisk a big, eye-crinkling smile that reminded her too much of Asgore. Misinterpreting the human’s expression, the goat monster raised a finger. “I’ll tell you what, my child. When we visit Hotland tomorrow, we can bring this and ask someone to play or sing it for us. Is it a tune I know, or would you like it to remain a surprise?”

“Er…I guess it can be a surprise.” Frisk took the paper and stuffed it back in the folder. Maybe that was for the best…

“Well! Thank you again, Frisk.” Toriel nodded as the others murmured agreement. “I believe it’s time to settle down for the night.” The boss monster stood and surveyed the room, hands on hips. “Let’s clean up, girls. We don’t have enough beds, so would you all like to sleep in here?” They nodded so enthusiastically that Toriel’s smile broadened. “Wonderful! I’ll be right back. Put all the gifts on the table, and the wrapping paper can go in the kitchen for now.”

As the boss monster bustled off down the hall and they began picking things up, Alphys lowered her voice: “F-Frisk, do you know why she was asking about your b-birthday? Asgore asked the exact s-same thing about you being ten years old.”

Frisk thought about it, and hesitated, and made herself say, “I don’t know. We’ll see if she asks me anything else strange.”

“What _I_ can’t believe is you being as strong as a boss monster,” Undyne declared, wadding all the paper into a fist-sized ball. “That’s crazy! I mean, I didn’t think humans could have that much magic!” She gave her toothiest grin. “So, basically, you and Sans are—”

“Perfect,” Toriel said briskly, striding back into the living room and setting down a huge stack of linens. “We have just enough for three pallets! Claim your spots, ladies, and we’ll get you comfortable. It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow. Can I invite you back here for tomorrow night, Doctor?”

The lizard monster was delighted to accept, but Frisk wasn’t so sure. It was nice to see Alphys and Undyne so happy, but…did Toriel expect them to stay here every night of her visit?

As they arranged the blankets and sheets into makeshift sleeping bags, Toriel chattered about all the “campouts” Chara and Asriel used to have in the living room, but Frisk didn’t hear much of it; she was lost in thought about Sans. Toriel didn’t seem to suspect anything, but they had to tell her sometime very soon. Frisk didn’t know how they were going to convince the former Queen that maybe _one_ human with magic and determination could successfully pair off with a monster—maybe they could appeal to Toriel’s concern for Sans’ welfare, not to mention that Frisk was literally his only option?

…Ouch. She rubbed her temple, trying to shove that thought back down where it belonged. Hadn’t she just scolded Sans last night for “joking” that she was only interested in him because some weirdo in a robe said she’d get pregnant soon? If he was really just interested in her SOUL, then he’d have shown some interest much sooner, wouldn’t he?

…Like…like getting flustered when she offered him that stupid fork during their very first real conversation…or agreeing to stay in the first place…or ignoring the opportunity to escape when she was sick from teleporting back to her rooms. Or all the odd looks she’d noticed, especially at her damn feet. Or him being so irate when she showed him her proposals, or the noise he made when she came out in her skin-tight All Souls dress, or being upset that everyone was going to see it, or his instant willingness to pose as her husband for the festival, or—

Frisk bit the inside of her cheek. She _knew_ Sans cared for her. What was making her think like this?

As if in reply, cold prickled over her scalp and down her back. She glanced at the hallway, almost expecting to see—

“Hey!” Undyne snapped her fingers for the third time, startling Frisk out of her reverie. “Did you hear Her Majesty?”

“Ah…no. I’m sorry.” Frisk smoothed out her pallet and stood up to accept a plate with the last slice of pie. “Thank you, Lady Toriel.”

“You’re very welcome, my dear.” The goat monster bent over to renew the magic inside the fireplace, then smoothed the hair out of Frisk’s eyes again, surprising the human with a light kiss on her forehead. “Good night, Frisk. Good night, Undyne, and good night, Alphys. I’ll be right down the hall if you need anything.”

Frisk smiled as the others bade Toriel good night. Was this what being a normal person felt like, having a mother and friends?

Undyne could barely wait for Frisk to finish her pie before she sat down on her pallet and leaned in to ask, “So, what do the humans think of you and Sans? Are they okay with it, or are you important enough to get away with it?”

The human sighed, getting up to put her dishes in the sink. “They don’t think anything is going on,” she said. “He’s a skeleton, and that’s that.”

Alphys squinted at her in disbelief, and Undyne said, “Wait a damn second. You mean to tell us he spent all that time with you, _in your room_ , and no one even thought something could be going on? Do they have any idea how much magic a boss monster has to work with?!”

“Really, I thought h-humans had more imagination than that,” Alphys remarked.

“Yeah! You’re all supposed to be a bunch of perverts!” Undyne shook her head in disgust. “Can’t you guys do anything right?”

Frisk had to laugh as she settled back onto her pallet. “Humans have no idea how monster reproduction works,” she explained. “I barely know anything myself.”

“Then listen up!” Before Frisk could stop her, Undyne leapt onto the armchair. “Here’s the facts of life, kid, and I’m not gonna hold anything back! You ready? It goes like—”

“Instinct,” Alphys said hastily. “You decide to be parents, and you combine your m-magic, and then you have a baby. Or an egg, or a cub. It d-depends.”

The priestess thought about it as Undyne grumbled at the interruption. “Sans implied that you need a male and a female to reproduce,” she said. “Is that true?”

“Pffffft! Are you kidding?” Undyne gesticulated so wildly that the armchair pitched back and fell over, the fish monster gracefully shifting to stay atop it. “That’s just for bosses!”

“It’s true,” said Alphys. “Lady Toriel had to incubate Prince Asriel like a human because there was s-so much magic involved.” She squirmed, claws twisting into her blanket. “O-otherwise, any two monsters can decide to h-have a b-b-baby.”

“Any monsters?” Frisk repeated. “Two men, two women—”

Alphys turned a remarkable shade of orange-red, actually quite pretty to look at, and Undyne nodded so emphatically that she somersaulted onto the floor. “With enough magic, you can do anything,” she said proudly, folding her legs and leaning forward. “If you want a kid, the first thing you do is tell Asgore, and he gives you both a big hug and writes you…I guess humans would call it a birth certificate, except the kid’s not there yet.” Shrug. “Anyway, you both rest up and eat a lot, and then you decide where you’re gonna do it.” Undyne pointed at the floor. “It can be anywhere, but most people like to go somewhere special.” She smiled at Alphys. “Where’d we go if it was the two of us? I’d say the garbage dump.”

The scientist paused, made a series of incoherent noises, and dove under her pallet, only her tail sticking out. “Why the garbage dump?” Frisk asked curiously.

“Duh! It’s where we met!” The fish monster cackled, slapping her leg. “Look at her, all cute ‘n lumpy under th—” Snort. “Oh my God, Frisk, we still have to tell her about that! And Alphys, you’ve gotta tell us what happened with Sans and Asgore!”

Frisk heartily agreed; it was as good a time as any to get everyone on the same page. They coaxed Alphys into sticking her head out long enough to tell them about Sans’ conversation with the King, which seemed to have gone about as well as could be expected; then it was Undyne’s turn to relate the scene at Grillby’s, and how fun and easy it’d been to screw with Sans.

Of course, she also had to mention Gerson’s revelation about boss-monster attraction. “Frisk really is that strong, then?” the scientist asked, incredulous. “Sans said she was j-just like a boss monster, but…”

“That’s what Gerson said,” the Captain replied with an air of finality. “Anyway, Sans was trying to convince everyone he thinks humans are all gross, and you know what that goofy bastard said?”

Once the story was finished and they were done laughing – nervously, on Frisk’s part – Undyne resumed her lecture: “So, when you’re ready to have your kid, you go wherever you decided, and everyone knows to leave you alone so you can concentrate.” She held her hands up and spread her webbed fingers to indicate a large oval between her and Frisk. “You both decide on a size and shape to aim for, and then you combine your magic to start forming it. How long it takes depends how powerful you both are, and what you want your kid to be—anywhere from a few hours to a whole day. When the baby’s done growing, you all go home, eat something, and get someone to watch the kid so you can sleep for a couple days. Boom! You’re parents!”

“What do you mean, ‘combine your magic’?” Frisk demanded, too curious to care if she was being rude. “What does that entail, exactly?”

Undyne cocked her head, scratching behind her fin. “Whaddya mean?” she asked. “You just do it. Think of what you want and why you’re doing it with that person, swap your magic with them, and focus it together for a really long time.”

“But when you ‘swap’ your magic, how do you actually do it?” Frisk persisted. “Do you have to be physically touching each other?”

The scaly monsters exchanged glances, more confused than embarrassed. “You just do it,” Undyne said again. “I mean, did anyone ever teach you how to sneeze? Once you’re ready, it just happens.”

“It’s completely unique to each couple,” explained Alphys. “The important thing is your intentions, and your f-feelings—trusting your m-mate enough to have your magic directly connected with theirs, and wanting a ch-child badly enough to expend all your power. It can be through touch, or purely magical, though I think it’s usually b-both, depending on your individual preferences. It mostly operates on instinct.” Squirm. “At least I th-think so. People don’t r-really talk about it that much.”

“Exactly! That’s my smart lady.” Undyne ruffled the spikes on Alphys’ crest, smirking as the scientist retreated again.

Frisk supposed that made sense; if Sans were to partner with, say, another skeleton, he probably wouldn’t bother to imitate any human parts. But if she was a human who essentially qualified as a boss monster – still a strange thought, however gratifying – then it’d have to be done the human way, which meant…improvising.

“I don’t get how _you_ don’t get it,” the Captain said to Frisk. “Isn’t it the same for you guys? At least a little?”

The priestess sighed. “No. For one thing, only a male and a female can make a child, and it always has to grow inside the female. We instinctively crave physical contact, but that’s about it. We have to be taught how to do it, or else the whole race would probably die out.”

That was an exaggeration, but not much, judging by the questions Frisk remembered the other girls asking in their class, and the things she had believed at that age. For example, she once overheard an older girl referring to a boy having “popped a boner” and concluded that the male organ must function like a jack-in-the-box, which seemed impractical at best, and potentially quite dangerous.

“What you’re saying, then,” Frisk continued, “is that monsters only do it when they’ve made a serious, loving commitment to being parents?” She shook her head. “That’s the exact opposite of most humans. There’s no magic to invest, and usually not much forethought.”

The monsters looked as horrified as Sans had been when he and Frisk conversed on the subject. “Is that how your dad has so many kids?” Undyne asked. “You just…”

“I’d say ninety-nine times out of—no, more like nine hundred ninety-nine times out of a thousand, it’s purely recreational. There’s a huge demand for medicines that prevent pregnancy,” replied Frisk. “And a lot of humans – especially young women – think it’s more romantic to ‘follow their heart’ and just hope they don’t get pregnant. If they do, and it’s out of wedlock, the man is only held responsible based on social status and his own morals.” She stared into the fire, the magic flames flickering in orderly patterns. “Powerful men can do almost anything they want. I was lucky that my father acknowledged me at all.”

Shocked silence. “No, I’m not joking,” Frisk muttered. Completely against her will, she thought again of Chara railing at Asgore and Toriel— _“If they_ _get someone pregnant,_ they _don’t have to deal with the consequences, do they?”_

It was hard to keep from scowling, or feeling queasy. Everything came back to Chara, didn’t it?

“Well,” Undyne said in disgust. “That’s total crap. We’ve gotta get everything straightened out peace-wise so you can marry Sans and stay here.”

Alphys nodded eagerly, but Frisk felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. Undyne leaned down to peer into her face. “What?” demanded the Captain. She glanced at Alphys. “A couple weeks ago, Frisk talked to some guy who’s never wrong, and he said that if she got her memories back, she’d have a baby within a year. Then she comes here, and I find out Sans has been gnawing on her—”

“Undyne!” snapped Frisk, cheeks aflame.

“Well, it’s true! I know you’re not like other humans, so…” Undyne raked her loose hair out of her eye. “I’m assuming the best here. I mean, don’t you wanna get married?”

“Of course I do!” Frisk almost shouted. “I love him, and I _hate_ that we have to hide it like this! It’s illegal with humans because they think of monsters as a cross between animals and public utilities, and I can’t do anything here because the last human who lived here was a spoiled, manipulative piece of—”

She stopped at the sight of tiny golden sparks crackling in the air. Both monsters had recoiled as far back as they could, Undyne against the capsized armchair and Alphys up against the low bookshelf. “Sorry,” Frisk said hastily, and the sparks vanished. Where had those come from? She hadn’t put up a barrier—was she just that angry?

Wait. It was easier to use magic in the Underground than on the surface, and her barriers always got more fizzy when she was upset…was her magic more reactive to her emotions down here? She hoped not, or else she’d have to be _very_ careful to avoid scaring any more monsters.

Undyne scooted forward. “Yeah, I think we’re done for now,” she said. “We should get to bed. Gonna have a busy day tomorrow, and you’re probably pretty tired.”

“Yes, very.” Frisk rubbed between her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you, or…”

“That’s all right,” Alphys said, offering a timid smile that made Frisk feel exponentially worse. “Um…y-you know, you can talk about it with us, if you w-want. But you don’t have to.”

“Yeah! We’re your friends,” Undyne said stoutly. “Yell, scream, throw things—that’s what friends do!”

The priestess chuckled. “Thank you.” She rose on her knees and hugged Undyne around the middle, then Alphys. “Thank you both so much. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Alphys was pink again. Undyne grinned. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s be good and get to sleep.”

Frisk slid under the blankets, letting warmth sweep over her and wash away the bitterness. On impulse, she said, “Who wants a lullaby?”

“Oh. D-do you sing?” asked Alphys.

Frisk didn’t think of Chara. She just took a breath, and the monsters blinked at each other in pleasant surprise as humming filled the room. It was Sans’ favorite song, light and sweet, and Undyne could barely mumble something complimentary before her eye drifted shut, Alphys following a few seconds later. Frisk had to let it taper it off soon after; it was so nice to think of Sans, but she couldn’t stay awake any longer. At least she’d see him tomorrow…

~

_Back a third time: in bed with her husband, she let him tip her head back so he could run his teeth and tongue over her throat. She remembered now how busy she’d been with work this week; they’d barely seen each other, much less been intimate. No wonder he was so eager, or that she couldn’t stay mad at him for waking her. Frisk sighed as his hand ran down her side, thumb stroking the delicate skin of her hip before it slid underneath for an appreciative squeeze. He nuzzled her cheek, then looked up enough to lock eyes before he kissed her._

_Frisk pulled him closer, glorying in the slight pain of his ribs grinding against hers; not only was it the feeling of being close to him, she knew from experience how much Sans loved her softness. She was a little bemused when he sat up after only a minute or so, but he was breathing so hard and fumbling so awkwardly with his shorts that she had to recognize it as a compliment. Her body warmed in anticipation as he moved her legs aside to—_

_Sans almost never cursed, but he muttered something_ very _impolite as the doorknob rattled. “Daddy?” Rattle, rattle. “I’m hungry.”_

_"it’s after midnight, kiddo,” the skeleton said irritably. “go back to bed before you wake your mom. she’s gotta be up in a few hours.”_

_A token whine; sullen footsteps trudged back to their room, the door of which was nearly slammed shut._

_Frisk sighed. “How does she do that?” she mumbled. “I swear I—”_

_Her only warning was a glint in his socket and a sharp movement forward—her hands latched onto his shirt, jaws clenched to keep from crying out. “Sans! That’s…” Frisk bit back a moan as he leaned over her. “That’s cheating,” she whispered furiously._

_Sans chuckled. “not if i’m doin’ it with my wife.” His hips moved slowly. “get it?” He ground his teeth as she retaliated by rubbing her calves along his pelvis. “it’s…y-yeah.”_

_Frisk smirked. He was so aroused that he couldn’t even come up with a followup joke! That was gratifying. So was…well, everything else he was doing. She leaned up to pull him in for another kiss, but he buried his face in her neck instead, gripping the sheets for better leverage as his pace quickened._

_There was nothing for it. Frisk hung onto him for dear life, dimly aware that she was getting louder, no longer caring if either of the kids heard them. It didn’t last very long, but that was fine: for the first time in a long while, Sans had to bite her shoulder as he shuddered to a stop, which was enough for_ her _a moment later, leaving them both a panting, sticky mess—in other words, perfect._

_On one hand, she did actually have to get up in…crap, only four hours? Frisk glared at the alarm clock, then closed her eyes, stroking her husband’s skull as he caught his breath. Sans mumbled into her ear, and Frisk smiled, whispering back. At least she wouldn’t have any trouble getting back to sleep!_

~

Sans didn’t make a conscious decision to get up and go find Frisk _right now_ ; he just woke up and, a moment later, found himself standing in the dark entryway of Toriel’s house. Magic raced through his bones so hard and fast that he had to get ahold of himself long enough to adjust his vision. The colossal skeleton moved cautiously to his right, where the bedrooms were, then paused at a sound from the living room. A little snore, rustling…snickering?

Right. The slumber party. Against his better judgment – any judgment at all, really – Sans crept down the hall and peered around the corner of the living room, where two people lay fast asleep; a third person was crouched over one of the sleepers, chortling to herself.

The boss monster kept a tight rein on his urge to walk over, grab Frisk, and take her straight back with him to his cold, smelly, bedless room. At the very least, he wanted to ask Undyne what the hell she was doing to _his_ human.

He didn’t get the chance: a silent presence behind him made him gulp. “Hey, Tori,” he mumbled, half-turning.

Toriel was in her normal clothes, looking tired and extremely unhappy to see him. “What are you doing here at this hour?” she asked coldly.

His bullshitting reflex saved him as webby feet padded over from the living room and Undyne joined the goat monster in glaring at him. “I was thinkin’ about that big load of food we need ta pick up, and who all should be goin’,” he said. “Frisk probably wants me to bring her an’ maybe you, Undyne, but I think it’s too dangerous fer her. I wanted ta grab some papers from ‘er and jus’ go take care of it by myself.”

“All by yourself?” repeated Undyne, and Toriel asked, “Right this moment?”

“Yeah. I can shortcut everything home way easier if it’s just me.” Sans jerked his thumb at the living room. “All I need are the invoices out of ‘er bag, and I can take care of the whole thing while you guys are doin’ whatever.” He shrugged. “I don’t want ‘er wastin’ her time in the Underground with that crap. She never hangs out with other girls, so this’ll be good for ‘er.”

“How considerate of you,” Toriel said warmly. “I know how much magic you possess, Sans, but surely you won’t attempt to take yourself and all that cargo back here single-handed? What if you can only come partway and get caught out in the open?” The goat monster looked around Sans. “Would you consider going with him, Captain?”

“Nah, she can stay here,” the skeleton answered. “I’ll get a room in the village if I need ta rest up. And if I really wanna keep myself in shape…” He didn’t have to fake a shudder. “Pap’s got plenty’a food in the fridge.”

The women were silent for a moment. Undyne came forward slowly to clap him on the back ribs. “Sans,” she said gravely. “I salute you.”

Toriel sighed. “I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures. If your mind is made up, I will not stop you. Undyne, would you get the papers from Frisk’s bag, please?”

And so it was that Sans found himself committed to the biggest solo grocery run imaginable, all because of a sex dream. It was good to know that he _could_ still lie as long as Frisk wasn’t in the room, but he wished he could’ve found out in a more convenient way. Eh, whatever; it was true that she needed girl time, and that she’d be in danger if they ran out of magic and were discovered by poachers. He had his disguise, but she was way too cute to pass as anything but herself.

So Sans accepted the folder, flipped through for the most boring-looking, number-filled papers, and helped himself, taking _note_ of the sheet music – ha – without giving it much thought. “Welp, ‘m off,” he said to the other monsters. “Tell ‘er ta have fun, ‘n I’ll be back soon.”

“Of course, Sans. Please, be careful, and don’t take any foolish risks,” Toriel urged him. “We will send out a search party if you’re not back within forty-eight hours.”

“And Frisk’ll probably insist on coming,” Undyne added pointedly. “Don’t get captured or die, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The giant skeleton waved the papers at them. “I’m gonna say bye to Pap, and then I’m off. Toodles.”

True to his word, Sans went back to the house, woke his brother, and apologized in advance for eating all the spaghetti, explaining that he needed the energy in order to go get another load of food for everyone. Papyrus was two-thirds ecstatic and one-third fretful. “I CAN SEE YOU ARE ALSO SICK WITH WORRY,” the younger skeleton murmured as Sans choked down the last plateful. He wasn’t stupid enough to have his tongue out, but there was just something about Pap’s cooking that transcended texture or flavor. “ARE YOU SURE YOU CAN DO THIS ALONE?”

“Yeah,” Sans said feebly, reminding himself that the stuff basically counted as food. “I’ll be fine, Pap. I’m gonna be really careful.”

Papyrus put his hands on his fake-armored hips. “HMM. I HOPE THAT MEANS NO HUNTING.”

Sans tapped his fork on the plate. He had wondered if his brother was going to say anything about that. “Nah, bro. No hunting. No animals, not anythin’. I’m just gonna get the stuff Frisk ordered and come right back. I promise.”

The smaller skeleton – Sans was never going to get used to that – nodded, only looking a little skeptical. “NYEH! WE’LL WAIT FOR YOU, THEN. DON’T TAKE TOO LONG, BUT MOSTLY, TAKE CARE.”

“Sure thing.” Sans rolled the papers up loosely, tucked them into an outside pocket, and gave Papyrus a brief, manly embrace. “Take care of ‘er. I’ll see ya later.”

“OF COURSE! I WILL ALSO SEE YOU, NYEH-HEH!” Papyrus held his smile as Sans winked out of sight. Then he sighed, his whole body drooping. “…I HOPE.”

~

Frisk woke to the sounds of laughter, voices, and a door closing. For a moment between rubbing her eyes and raising her head, the priestess had no idea where she was, or what she was hearing—was Sans making breakfast for the kids? Had she overslept? Why was the bed so hard?

She pushed herself up onto her elbows and saw the living room of Toriel’s house, blankets and pillows heaped around the cooling fireplace. Right; they’d had a slumber party. Frisk yawned, sitting up for a deeply contented stretch. She could hardly comprehend it: they had stayed up late talking about girl stuff, and she had no responsibilities for today except to go shopping! Maybe she really should stay at Toriel’s for the rest of the trip…

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Toriel said, with an odd quaver in her voice. “Would you like some breakfast?”

Frisk scratched her forehead. Then she scratched it again, checking under her nails, and decided she was imagining things. “Yes, please. I hope you’re not using your pie ingredients.”

“Why not? I have butter, eggs, and salt, and three hungry houseguests.” Toriel waggled a finger to spread the fire magic more evenly beneath the skillet. Her shoulders hunched a little as Frisk got up and wandered into the kitchen. “Would you please set the table for me?” she asked without turning.

“Certainly.” The human went to fetch four plates and glasses from the cabinet. “Where are Alphys and Undyne?”

“Reading those silly comic books in the guest room,” the goat monster said tolerantly. “I’ve never seen grown monsters who loved those things so much.”

The priestess found the silverware drawer and set out forks and napkins. “You seem to be feeling better,” she commented. “We were a little worried last night.”

“Yes, of course…and speaking of last night, Sans stopped by very early this morning.” Toriel transferred the scrambled eggs to a serving bowl. “He’ll be busy today with a few errands, so we won’t be seeing him, but he said to have fun with the girls.”

Frisk mumbled acknowledgment, her face growing hot. Had he had the same dream, or memory, or whatever it was? Was he avoiding her?

Toriel was quiet for another moment. Then: “I hate to gossip, dear, but…when Sans was apprenticing under you at the castle, did he seem…fond of anyone? I mean, has he grown attached to any humans beside yourself?”

Frisk felt the hairs on her arms standing straight up. “Er…may I ask why? Did he say something last night?” she asked, sounding only mildly curious.

The boss monster shook her head. “Please, Frisk. I’d rather not discuss it until you’ve answered my question.”

Frisk wanted to tell the truth so badly that she had to bite her lip before she answered, “I don’t know. We didn’t talk much with any one person. The only people he really interacted with were the sorcerers in charge of developing the solar panels.”

“Ah, yes, humans don’t have them yet.” In one motion, Toriel cracked two more eggs into the skillet, incinerated the shells, and flicked the ashes into the sink. “By ‘sorcerers,’ you mean men and women with considerable amounts of magic?” A drop of egg splashed the stovetop as Toriel stirred the mixture, raising a little plume of steam. “Forgive me for asking, my child, but are any of them particularly strong? Perhaps one of your siblings?”

Frisk stared at the table. Time to stop dancing around the subject, or at least come a little closer. “I think I know why you’re asking, Lady Toriel. Yesterday at Grillby’s, Gerson told us that boss monsters are only attracted to other boss monsters, or someone equally powerful,” the priestess said quietly. “Is that true?”

An embarrassed pause. “That old—” _Crack_ went another egg. “Yes, it is true.” _Crack._ “May I ask how the subject came up?”

Well, Sans had obviously said _some_ thing, or Toriel had otherwise figured out there was a human involved…but she still didn’t seem to know who he meant. “Undyne was teasing him about liking humans. Gerson explained that it was basically impossible, but Sans acted as though it’d already happened,” said Frisk, trying to stay calm. “I won’t ask whether Sans told you anything in confidence, but…yes, he has met several extremely gifted humans.” When there was no response, the priestess turned to face the stove, where the former Queen stood rigid. “Toriel, please, tell me honestly—what’s the worst that could happen if Sans were to marry a human?”

 _Crack._ “He could not.” _Crack._ “It is not my personal opinion. It is _fact_.” More egg splashed the stovetop. “Neither humans nor monsters would recognize their union. She would be an outcast among humans, and we would not trust her enough to let her live here.” _Crack._ “Asgore would suspect Sans of collusion with humanity, or even treason, especially if he chose someone related to the King. Everyone in the Underground but myself and Papyrus would think likewise.” A giant sigh. “The best-case scenario is that Sans would have no home but what he and his wife could make for themselves, and he would have her for only a few decades at most before she withered and died. I don’t even know if they could have a child, but if they did, Asgore would feel threatened by—”

“What if we changed any or all of that?” Frisk took a few steps into the kitchen. “Why couldn’t monsters learn to trust at least one human? Why can’t we try to convince Asgore that he doesn’t have to fear and hate everyone, and Sans isn’t a threat?” She couldn’t keep her voice from rising: “Why not give Sans a chance to have a few years with someone he loves, instead of making him live forever in abject misery?”

Silence. Toriel turned the skillet to scrape more eggs into the serving bowl, mixing them all together. “You may be in a position of authority, my child,” she said, so gently that Frisk’s hackles rose, “but there are many things you do not understand yet.”

Frisk took a calming breath. “I understand that when someone says that,” she said politely, “they’re either hiding something, or trying to end an argument where they know they’re wrong.”

Toriel stopped moving. The ring of fire on the stovetop flared so high that Frisk had to control the impulse to turn and run. “Listen to me, child. I know that Sans is your friend, and that you are concerned for him,” the boss monster said to the flames, deadly quiet. “I feel the same way. If it were possible to allow him to be happy with someone, _anyone_ , I would be overjoyed. But I will reiterate: the things I have said to you are not a product of my own narrow-mindedness. They. Are. Facts.”

Frisk’s chest burned. “Facts can be changed, Lady Toriel,” she murmured. “I’m not claiming anything will be quick or easy, only that it may be possible. It stays impossible if we do not _try_.”

The flames on the stove winked out. Toriel went to the refrigerator and took out a fresh jug of milk. “Go get the other girls, please, my child. Breakfast is ready,” she said brightly.

 _So be it._ “Yes, ma’am,” the priestess replied.

“Uh…” Undyne’s awkward voice made Frisk turn to face the hallway. The Captain and the royal scientist were glancing around, clearly afraid to interrupt. Undyne looked up solemnly. “Frisk, I just wanted to saaaHAHAHAHAHA!” The fish monster nearly collapsed, staggering into the wall as she howled with completely unexpected laughter, raising a shaking finger toward the human.

Bewildered, Frisk looked at Alphys. The latter tried to cover her mouth, but as her eyes met Frisk’s, the lizard snorted so hard that her glasses fell most of the way off. Another look, and Alphys was wheezing, sitting down hard. Undyne was already gasping for breath, but every time she looked up at Frisk, she nearly screamed. “Oh my—oh my gaaaaahahaha _ha_!”

Frisk whirled around and glared at Toriel, who was still facing away from her, but whose head was bowed and shoulders shaking as her laugh finally burst forth in great, rolling peals, forcing the goat monster to lean against the counter and gradually start slithering to the floor. She risked a peek at Frisk and clutched her gut as the human stared down at her. “My…my ch—” She shook her head, falling onto her side to giggle helplessly on the kitchen floor.

What in the—Frisk shoved past her debilitated friends and ran to the bathroom mirror. That was why Toriel had sounded so strange at first, and why she hadn’t turned around: in giant black letters on Frisk’s forehead and across the bridge of her nose, someone had written SHARKY WUZ HERE.

She _knew_ her skin had felt itchy! What the hell was it written with? Indelible ink?! The priestess was so angry that…she…actually…had to admit it was pretty damn funny. She glared at her reflection, but it was no use: Frisk buried her head in her hands and allowed herself to laugh silently for nearly a full minute.

Out in the kitchen and living room, the monsters were starting to run out of steam, amusement fading gradually into concern as the human remained silent. “F…Frisk?” Undyne managed. She tried to get up, but the best she could do was a half-crouch against the wall. “Hey, Frisk? You okay?”

There was a distinct sniffle as Frisk emerged from the bathroom. Toriel wiped her face on her sleeve, sitting up against the cabinets. “My child? Are you all right?” she called.

Frisk came shuffling down the hall, her head hanging. She walked past the concerned monsters and sat down on her pallet, giving another noisy sniff.

Undyne grimaced. “Hey, come on. It was just a dumb joke.” The Captain hobbled into the living room and bent over Frisk. “It’s a tradition to—”

 _Whap_ went Frisk’s pillow, square in the fish monster’s face. Undyne fell flat on her back as Frisk burst out laughing. “This had better come off, _Sharky_ ,” she said, trying to sound very angry and absolutely failing.

Undyne smacked the floor, giving another shout of laughter. “Who…who said it was me?! Why would you think that was _my_ nickname?” She grabbed her own pillow and sat up for a swipe at Frisk, mindful of her much greater strength. “It was probably Her Majesty!”

“Oh, really? Is that how it is?” Toriel got to her feet with difficulty. “I…” She had to pause for a few more giggles before she could say, “I suppose I’ll just comfort myself by eating this entire breakfast by myself.”

At that, Alphys got up and tried to creep around the fringes of the now-full-blown pillow fight, but Undyne grabbed her ankle. “Hold on, Doctor! This is a question of honor, and you’ve gotta help me settle it once and for all! I—” She stopped as Frisk tried to catch her unawares. “HEY! Knock it off, you damn cheating human!”

“Never!” Frisk had gone for her blind side, and ducked behind her pillow to avoid retaliation. “Alphys, help me!”

“Mmm! This is wonderful,” Toriel said loudly, sparing the scientist from having to choose sides. “I’m so glad I have it _all to myself_!”

Undyne dropped her pillow, but before she could stand up, Frisk said, more seriously, “Wait a moment, please. I need help getting this off my face.” She crooked her finger at Undyne. “We’ll be right back.”

The Captain followed her to the bathroom. “Yeah, I have no idea how to get that stuff off,” she admitted. “I used one of the really nice pens out of Toriel’s desk.”

“Splendid.” Frisk opened the medicine cabinet as Undyne closed the door. “That could’ve gone better,” she said quietly.

“What?! That was fun as—oh. Right.” The fish monster sat down on the edge of the tub. “Yeah, so…Her Majesty knows something is going on with a human, but she doesn’t even suspect it’s you? I mean, you’re powerful enough to be High Priestess, you spent way more time with Sans than anyone else, and he really cares about you. How is she not putting that together?”

Frisk sighed, selected a bottle of baby oil, and began rubbing it on her nose and forehead. “Toriel’s been alone for much too long. Now that I’m back, she still wants to think of me as a little girl, and being involved with Sans doesn’t fit that image.” The human dumped most of the bottle out and slathered it on. “It’s convenient for now, but when she finds out…”

“Hmm.” The Captain gave her a hard, squinty stare. “That’s not gonna stop you, is it?” she demanded.

“Hell no,” Frisk said. She was smiling, but she had never been more serious in her life…or at least she would be, once she got the damn ink off.

~

It was now late afternoon. Sans was standing at the counter of a large grain clearinghouse in human form, hands in his pockets, waiting on someone who’d run off to find someone else who could assist him. He glanced around for the fifth time, but there wasn’t much point. There were shelves lined with burlap sacks that reminded him of his old shirt, wood floors, brick walls, and nothing else. At least if he’d brought Frisk with him, he would’ve had something to look at!

If he’d brought Frisk along on this stupid impulse trip, he also wouldn’t be waiting for these dickwads to take their sweet friggin’ time tracking his stuff down; she would have done her scary thing at them and gotten their fleshy butts moving. He was doing his best to look intimidating, but it wasn’t the same with his disguise on.

…But if he’d brought Frisk along, he’d be thinking nonstop of that damn dream, and his entire day would’ve been a frustrating waste. As it was, he was only thinking _mostly_ of that damn dream, and the day had otherwise been really boring. This was the third place Sans had been, and according to the invoices, there were a couple more to go; he didn’t know why he’d assumed that everything they’d ordered would be sitting around in one place, ready to go, because holy shit, it wasn’t.

At least the nice lady at the first warehouse had convinced him not to try getting everything together and heading back out tonight. She’d seen that he was completely clueless and given him some advice on what to actually do: show the invoices today so they could get it ready for tomorrow, then rent a couple of carts in the morning, bring them to each warehouse, inspect the cargo for damage, sign the bill of lading, make sure it got loaded safely, and head to the next damn place to do it again until everything was ready to go. _Then_ he could worry about getting home.

All these stupid, tiny, essential details—was this what Frisk’s life was like, running around arranging crap for everyone? No wonder she was so damn tired all the time! It was like being pinched to death!

He was profoundly grateful to exit the last warehouse, even if the sun’s dying light was right in his eyes as he stepped out. Sans squinted his way down the street and selected the first okay-looking pub he saw. The place was noisy and crowded, but warm enough that he decided to sit down at a table near the door.

It was seriously weird to be by himself among all these people. With nothing better to do and the servers too busy to notice him yet, Sans relaxed as best he could, half listening to the humans’ chatter.

“That’s seriously the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” someone was saying loudly at the next table. “I don’t care how all-powerful it’s supposed to be, it’s a _skeleton_.”

Sans turned his full attention to that table as the guy’s friends murmured agreement. “Yeah, if that’s the worst thing they can come up with, it’s pretty damn stupid,” one said.

“You wanna know what _I_ heard that’s actually true?” The first speaker’s voice dropped just enough to sound impressive. “If the whole monster thing works out, the King’s gonna legally adopt her—new title, next in line for the throne after the Prince, the works.”

This did impress his friends, who were thoughtfully silent. “Nuh-uh,” someone finally said, and they laughed.

“I’m not kidding! My brother-in-law just got back from the city a couple hours ago. The sorcerers did a big demonstration of those…those panel things, whatever the fuck you call ‘em, and they actually worked. The King was there, and a bunch of people said he couldn’t stop talking about everything the High Priestess was doing.”

“So how’d you get from ‘the thing works like she said’ to ‘huzzah for Her Majesty’?” asked a skeptic.

The knowledgeable human smirked. “He was asking for all kinds of paperwork when they got back to the castle, including adoption stuff. The Prince isn’t doing too good—” He paused, nodding agreement with their sympathetic murmurs. “I know. Poor little man. But—”

“Good evening, sir!” A smiling, apple-cheeked waitress was between Sans and the other table. “What’ll you have?”

“Water.” When she opened her mouth again, he said, “Just bring me whatever’s at the top of the menu.”

The waitress blinked. “Yes, sir. Can I interest you in—”

“Bye,” he snapped, and the woman moved on, trying to hide a scowl.

To his irritation, the humans were now talking about sheep or something. Sans stared at the back of one man’s head, his thoughts buzzing like flies. Had he jinxed it somehow? Just yesterday, he’d been thinking what a great ruler Frisk would be, and now, if these random assholes were to be believed—

Someone had made a dirty joke about a guy spending too much time with his sheep, and the table was getting so loud that Sans contemplated moving somewhere else, or leaving entirely. If he stayed at a decent inn, he could get food there just as easily.

“You’d better watch out. They thought my cousin was doin’ that, and he had to sell his whole farm to pay the fine,” said the grossest-looking human.

This revelation was met with even louder derision. “That wasn’t a sheep, stupid,” the talkative guy commented. “He was gettin’ cozy with a monster. Remember, the little one they were using for the mill?”

Sans’ entire body locked up. Dimly, he knew he had to make his legs move—he had to get out of here before he heard anything worse than—

“He didn’t actually do anything,” the gross guy insisted. “They just found him in the pen.”

Another round of merriment. “Yeah, drunk off his ass! If I was her, I’d’ve knocked him out, too! He got charged with attempted bestiality _and_ letting her escape!”

“Nah, not bestiality,” someone said. “It’s…what’s that fancy word?”

“Miscegenation,” said the gross guy. “Fuckin’ a monster. He got lucky they didn’t throw him in jail. He just had to sell everything he owned and go work for someone.”

Sans stared down at his table’s cracked, beer-mug-stained surface. He was no longer listening to the group. So, it was actually against the law? That meant…

The noisy table gradually ceased talking and turned to look at Sans, who had started sniggering, then laughing to himself, and gotten so loud that the humans around him were edging away. “You okay there?” someone asked cautiously.

“It’s a _fucking_ crime,” Sans said, distantly aware that it was in fact a deeply messed-up and unfunny issue. “Get it?” He got up, shaking his head, a hand to his side. With an incoherent sound, the disguised monster ignored the waitress’ approach with his food and staggered out the door. He could eat later; right now, he just needed to stop laughing at the sheer, ridiculous number of reasons why he should never ever see Frisk again, much less spend the rest of his life with her. At this point, what else could even happen?!

In a way, it didn’t matter: it was about infinity too late to decide that they’d better just be friends. Whatever happened, they could handle it between them, he told himself, and very nearly believed it.

~

It wasn’t a sex dream this time, but the first thing he saw after falling asleep that night was Frisk, so he’d take it. “Heya,” said Sans, extending a bony hand. They were in Toriel’s living room, Frisk lounging in the armchair. “Come here often?”

She smiled at him as he pulled her to her feet. “Not often enough,” she said, squeezing his metacarpals. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Yeah?” For a moment, Sans thought she’d grown way taller; then he realized that he was his normal shape, but human height. He opened his arms, and Frisk came right in to snuggle against him, sighing as he pulled her closer. “How was yer day?” he mumbled, running his phalanges through the ends of her hair.

Her body rumbled as she laughed a little, and his SOUL almost purred with sheer happiness. How was he supposed to ever stop hugging her when it felt like this? “It was wonderful,” she said into his chest. “We had our slumber party, and then Papyrus came by in the morning to say hello, so we took him around to give out the rest of the gifts, and he came shopping with us.” Another giggle. “He’s actually got a great eye for color coordination.”

“Yeah?” Sans ignored the tiniest pinprick of jealousy. “Thanks fer includin’ him.”

“Of course!” The human squeezed him for emphasis. “I’ll spare you the full fashion show when you get back, but some of the things we got are really cute. I can’t wait to wear something that’s not black or gray.”

“Or purple?” he teased her.

“Or…” Frisk stopped, then thumped him in the ribs as he snickered. “You _know_ I hate that stupid dress! I might as well go out wearing nothing but body paint!”

“Okay,” Sans said agreeably.

That earned him another thump. “So,” Frisk said, very dignified, “then we went to see Mettaton.” She wriggled a little in excitement. “He’s already started teaching me a few different dance steps. The only time I’ve ever danced was when I was here, and it was so much fun! We’re going back tomorrow so I can practice.”

Sans tried to envision his normal, giant self dancing her around, and shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Glad ya liked it. Are you all back at Tori’s tonight?”

Frisk nodded. “We played cards until Undyne got carried away.” _Snrk_. “I bought some waterproof eyeliner while we were out today. I can’t wait for her to wake up tomorrow.”

That didn’t mean much to Sans, who figured he might as well ask, “Did they tell you what I’ve been doin’, where I am now?”

He felt her tense up. “Eventually, yes.” Frisk pulled back enough to glare at him. “What were you thinking? You should’ve waited for us!”

Sans let his head drift downward till his forehead was resting on hers. Was she wearing makeup, or were her lashes always this long? “I was thinkin’ of that dream from last night,” he said casually, “an’ then I wasn’t thinkin’. Tori caught me comin’ in to say hi.”

Frisk’s eyes widened, face flushing. “Sans! You can’t _do_ that! What were you even going to do with everyone else right there?!”

Sans paused. “Hold on a sec.” He didn’t know if it’d work in a dream, but just in case, he released her, pulled the silver chain from his coat pocket, and slipped on his disguise. Frisk jumped back as he wriggled his human hands. “There we go! Now I can feel stuff, and now—” He reached down to run his fingers through her hair, his other arm pulling her close again. “I don’t have all those damn teeth in the way,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her.

To his hurt surprise, she pushed him away, turning her face aside. “Hold on a second,” she protested. “I…” Frisk saw his expression and sighed. Her arms came up around his neck, and Sans had to try very hard to focus on anything else besides her softest parts smushed up against him. “You have to warn me before you do that,” she chided him. “I’ve only ever seen you like this a handful of times, and you startled me. That’s all.” She placed her palm on his cheek, and he wasn’t embarrassed to put his hand up to hold it there. “All right,” she said after a long moment. “Now you—”

The rest of the sentence was lost to history: his mouth was on hers, arms almost crushing her. Frisk made a sound deep in her throat, and he ran his hands down her back and up her sides as her lips parted again. It was so much better not to have to worry about biting the crap out of her! Their teeth could still knock together a bit too hard or catch each other’s lips, but that was a tiny annoyance compared to the feeling of her breath on him, how he could ease his tongue into her mouth and let her explore him right back without snagging anything on his fangs.

That also meant he could pull her hair back to expose her neck and bury his face in it, his other hand free to roam over her backside. It was a struggle to formulate anything coherent, much less to ask her if her physical limitations applied to dreams, or if they could lie down and pick up where they’d left off a couple nights ago.

Frisk’s throat moved. He thought she was encouraging him to start biting again, until she said, “I’m going to try to speak with Asgore tomorrow.”

Sans’ fingers dug into her waist. “Why.”

“Because I have to show him that I’m not afraid of him. Don’t worry, he likely won’t agree to see me yet. It’s just important to try.” Her hands tightened, almost trembling. “And I have to talk to him about…”

It came back to him in a flash, everything Grillby had said— “About Chara?”

Frisk’s hands were definitely trembling. “I don’t think Toriel could handle it. Not yet. But I can’t hide it much longer.” She swallowed hard. “Can I tell you about it when you get back?”

Sans frowned, resting his cheek where her neck met her shoulder. “Of course. Whatever ya need.” He paused, playing with her hair. “So, no offense, sweetheart, but…why are we talkin’ right now instead of makin’ out?”

“Because Undyne saw what I did to her face, and she’s hitting me with a p—”

Just like that, Frisk was gone. Sans stared at the empty space his arms were grasping, and allowed himself to slowly pitch forward until he fell into the armchair. He scooted and twisted around to face forward. Well, just because Undyne had ruined his chance to screw around completely consequence-free with the woman he loved and wanted with every fiber of his being, that was no reason to pout, was it? Except that it _completely_ _was_! Fuckin’ Undyne!

Sans exhaled, closing his sockets. His real self was so tired that he might as well stick around here for a minute, where no one else could bother—

Something in the dream moved, so quiet that it wasn’t really a sound so much as a disturbance in the air. It didn’t feel hostile, but the giant skeleton felt a stab of foreboding. He peeked upward, and immediately felt his sockets grow wide. His mouth moved, but there was no sound. All it could do was shape the words _Prince_ _Asriel_?

The figure nodded slowly. Sans watched in awe as it knelt, golden eyes dark and solemn in the firelight. There came the soft, deep, courteous voice Sans remembered: “Tell her I’m sorry.”

Sans shook his head. “Sorry for—wait!” Asriel was standing, stepping back with a shake of his head. “Prince Asriel! Hold on! Come—”

It was no use. Just like in real life, the Prince was gone.


	17. Food for Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I'm stubborn and not very bright, which can be a bad combination when you've got almost 20,000 words going and have decided it's going to be a single big chapter once you finish it, probably another...several thousand?
> 
> Yeah, no, here's its own split-off chapter. The next one shouldn't take quite as long to get out.
> 
> (Warning: a bit of violence.)

_The Grand Hall lived up to its name: Frisk had never been to the nicer parts of the humans’ castle, but there was no way it could be more amazing than this place, which had a ceiling hundreds of feet tall blanketed with tiny lights, speckled marble columns that reached nearly all the way up, and beautiful murals on the walls showing forests, rivers, even the ocean! Monsters stood in long lines along a central aisle of sparkling white sand, so new that it had obviously been made for the humans’ visit, stretching up a gentle slope to the foot of the grand staircase leading into the Underground._

_Queen Toriel had taken Frisk from the house in the Ruins through a snowy town – how did it snow_ inside _the mountain? – and on her first-ever boat ride, which ended all too soon in a place called “Waterfall”; from there, they hurried down to the Grand Hall just in time for the Royal Guard to announce the human delegation. Luckily, instead of having to walk through all those monsters, they used a partly-hidden network of hallways to emerge right at the head of the staircase. Toriel gave the child one more pat, telling her to be good and stay where she was, before the Queen walked out to take her place beside Asgore, nodding to the guards._

_Frisk was glad she didn’t have to talk to the King yet; he looked like a bigger, hairier, scarier version of his wife or son, scowling and fidgeting around until Toriel cleared her throat. They stood just in front of Prince Asriel, who noticed the child and gave her a friendly nod before he turned to face the aisle. Frisk crept out far enough to look around the rest of the cavern, wondering why humans talked about the Underground as if it was some kind of filthy mudhole. It was such a beautiful place, with boat rides and snow and twinkling lights…_

_Something like trumpets sounded, and the Grand Hall’s enormous bronze gates swung open. The monsters all put on their politest expressions as the delegation came through the entrance and headed up the aisle, with the frontmost humans stopping at the bottom of the staircase. “Greetings,” boomed King Asgore, extending his arms and flaring his purple cape out like great wings. “Welcome to the Underground, one and all!”_

_On cue, the monsters broke into cheers and applause. As the echoes faded, a fussy-looking human stepped forward to give a long speech about greetings and honor and honorable blah blah blah; it was starting to get boring when he was cut short by a cry of “Mama!” and someone rushing past him._

_“Chara!” Forgetting her dignity, the Queen of monsters hitched up her robe to run to her estranged daughter. They nearly crashed into each other halfway down the stairs, Toriel’s crown falling askew as the human leapt into her embrace. There was a lot of murmuring and more genuine applause, which swelled into a full ovation as Toriel sank to her knees, holding on as though her child was drowning and her arms were a life preserver._

_Asriel had also hurried down to meet his sister, and Asgore was starting toward them when it happened: Chara looked up for the briefest second, and when she saw Frisk near the head of the stairs, the woman’s eyes flashed sheer hatred, as though she wanted her dead on the spot._

_Frisk jerked back so hard that she stumbled and nearly fell. When she caught her balance, she found herself looking down at Asgore; he was staring at Chara, and followed the woman’s gaze back up to Frisk. For a long second, the King regarded the human child with a question in his eyes, as though he wanted to say something, but knew better; then Chara was all teary smiles again, hugging Asriel and extending an arm to “Papa!”_

_The applause grew even louder as Asgore joined them, parents and siblings joyously reunited, and Frisk could have cried with rage. Why did Chara have to hate_ her _for being there when she was lucky enough to have her own perfect family? Couldn’t Frisk have had more than a couple of minutes with those wonderful monsters before Chara stole them back?_

_It was too much. The child sniffled, and turned to trudge back down the hallway, trying not to think of what her mother was going to say when she found out where Frisk had been._

_But as she approached the branching path that led to the Grand Hall floor, she came to a sudden halt: someone further down the hall was shouting, “I’M TELLING YOU, IT IS DEFINITELY THIS WAY!”_

_“sure, bro,” another person mumbled, his deeper voice echoing up the passage._

_“SANS, PLEASE! THIS IS ABSOLUTELY THE CORRECT DIRECTION THIS TIME! THERE IS NO NEED TO LOOK AT ME IN THAT TONE OF VOICE!”_

_“relax, pap. i’m just impressed you know all these different ways to go.”_

_The voices weren’t moving—she was trapped up here. Frisk held her breath as the louder person demanded, “REALLY? THEN WHY ARE YOU GIVING ME THAT SMIRK?”_

_“…uh, bro? this is how I always—”_

_“DON’T LIE TO ME, BROTHER! THE GREAT PAPYRUS KNOWS WHAT A SMIRK LOOKS LIKE! IT’S A REGULAR SMILE, BUT IN THAT TONE OF VOICE!!”_

_“you got me. it means ‘pap is the coolest and knows all the directions.’ you like it?”_

_“…I SEE! NYEH-HEH. YES, I DO LIKE IT! FROM NOW ON, YOU MAY SMIRK ALL YOU WANT!”_

_“aww, thanks, bro. you’re the best…and that’s the_ tooth.”

_The joke was so dumb that Frisk had to laugh. Whoever it was, they sounded friendly enough, not to mention silly. Were they humans she hadn’t talked to on the way here? Or—_

_“DID YOU HEAR THAT, BROTHER?” She jumped as the voice came closer. “IS SOMEONE THERE? SOMEONE WITH EXTREMELY BAD TASTE?”_

_“hey! i think they’ve got great taste. i mean, they obviously speak our_ tongue _.”_

 _Frisk laughed again, and was only a little afraid when the strange pair came into view. They were skeletons—not just thin people, but actual, literal bones that walked and talked. One was very tall, dressed in showy red boots and some kind of fake armor, while the other was much shorter, in clothes_ far _too casual for an event like this. Why was he wearing pink slippers?_

_Both of them were also looking her over. With the tiny little lights in his sockets trained on Frisk, the taller one bent down to whisper to his brother. “OH MY GOD, SANS!” he yelled. “IS THAT A HUMAN?”_

_The short one stared at her for a moment, then nodded, and somehow closed one socket in a wink. “i dunno, pap. he doesn’t look that_ monstrous _to me. who’re you, kid?”_

_“My name is F—Kris,” she said, giving them a bow, “and you’re right. I’m a human.”_

_“OF COURSE I AM RIGHT, HUMAN, FOR I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS! HOW PLEASANT FOR YOU TO MEET ME!” The tall skeleton struck a heroic pose. “HAVE NO FEAR! WE MONSTERS HAVE BEEN INSTRUCTED TO MAKE YOUR ACQUAINTANCE AND THEN BECOME FRIENDS! THEREFORE, YOU MAY SIMPLY REFER TO ME AS ‘PAPYRUS,’ EVEN IF IT IS ONLY HALFWAY CORRECT.” He indicated the other skeleton. “THIS IS MY OLDER BROTHER, SANS. DO NOT BE DISTRAUGHT THAT HE IS NOT AS GREAT AS I AM, AND TRY TO BEAR WITH HIS TERRIBLE JOKES, NYEHH.” Nudge. “SANS! SAY SOMETHING THAT IS NOT TERRIBLE!”_

_Sans was watching her carefully; he looked like he was smiling, but Frisk had the feeling it was just how his face was made. He wasn’t happy to see her at all. “sure,” he said coolly. “the name’s sans. sans the skeleton.” Papyrus nudged him again, and Sans sighed, as if resigning himself to his fate. “yeah, i know what his majesty said.” He put on a wider grin. “welp, nice to meet you, kris.”_

_Fakeness or not, the monsters she’d met so far were still much better than any humans she knew. So Frisk smiled shyly at him, and whispered, “It’s nice to meet you, too, Sans.”_

_His smile dropped a little. They regarded each other for a few seconds; to her delight, his mouth rose again in genuine approval. “heh. you seem like a nice kid.” Shrug. “pap’s right. we’re all gonna be pals, so…”_

_Papyrus looked pleased as Sans took his hand from his jacket pocket. But as Frisk reached out to shake it, Pap’s smile suddenly vanished. “WAAAIT A MOMENT,” the taller brother said suspiciously. “SANS, DO NOT EVEN_ THINK _ABOUT—”_

 _Too late. The moment Frisk grasped the skeleton’s hand, something erupted in a palm-tickling explosion of_ Pfffffftttttppppppfffffffff…ffffffppp…pppf…pp……p.

_Silence._

_“OH. MY. GOD,” Papyrus said in the voice of doom, and rounded on his brother. “SANS, YOU IMBECILE! YOU HAVE BROKEN THE HUMAN! LOOK, IT ISN’T MOVING! IT—”_

_Frisk couldn’t hold it in: she_ howled _with laughter, and only got louder as Sans pulled his hand back to reveal the rubbery, air-filled contraption that had made the rude noise. “what can i say? it’s always funny,” he said proudly. “quite a_ gas. _”_

_“HOW COULD YOU, BROTHER?! THIS IS A CLEAR VIOLATION OF ACQUAINTANCE ETIQUETTE!” raged Papyrus. “HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO ASCEND THE HEIGHTS OF TRUE FRIENDSHIP NOW THAT YOUR IDIOTIC PRANK HAS DAMAGED THE SMALL HUMAN?!” Papyrus stabbed a gloved finger at Frisk, who was now doubled over. “IF THIS IS HOW YOU ARE GOING TO BEHAVE, YOU MIGHT AS WELL GO HOME NOW! YES, HOME! YOU CAN PICK UP YOUR ROOM IN CASE WE HAVE HUMAN GUESTS!”_

_“i dunno, bro,” said Sans, winking at Frisk again. “it’s probably too heavy for me. you should get it instead.”_

_“NYEHHH! I MOST CERTAINLY WILL_ NOT _GET IT!”_

_“aw, pap, don’t be so hard on yourself. i’m sure if you just try harder—”_

_“LEAVE!! NOW!!!”_

_Funny as the brothers were, that seemed harsh to Frisk—the nearest houses had to be pretty far away from the Grand Hall, and making Sans walk all the way back because of a few jokes was a little much. She eyed Papyrus doubtfully, wondering if he was like humans after all._

_“it’s fine, kiddo,” Sans told her, as if reading her thoughts. He winked one more time. “don’t worry, i know a shortcut. so,_ eye _will_ see _ya later.”_

_Before Frisk could react, Sans was…gone. Baffled, she looked around, then up at Papyrus. “HM? OH, YES. SANS HAS DEVELOPED HIS MAGIC EXACTLY ENOUGH TO BE AS LAZY AS POSSIBLE,” the tall skeleton said distastefully. “I CAN ONLY HOPE HE IS ACTUALLY CLEANING HIS ROOM NOW. MORE LIKELY, HE IS—”_

_There was a sound of clapping and cheering from the Grand Hall. “THAT’S RIGHT!” Papyrus threw his red scarf over his collarbone. “COME ALONG, HUMAN! I SHALL INTRODUCE YOU TO THE OTHER MONSTERS! YOU WILL BE DELIGHTED TO MEET THEM, ESPECIALLY THE ROYAL GUARD, AND THE FEELING WILL BE MUTUAL! NYEH-HEH! FOLLOW ME, NEW ACQUAINTANCE!”_

_“Um…” Frisk bit her lip. Papyrus was a lot to take in, especially without warning, but he didn’t seem to be faking his enthusiasm, or his kindness. Frisk looked at him, made up her mind, and smiled again. “Can we be friends now?” she asked, holding up her hand._

_The skeleton’s cheekbones turned bright pink, somehow, eye sockets going wide and glittery. “REALLY?!? WOWIE! I CAN’T BELIEVE I—” He made a noise like a cough. “I MEAN…O-OF COURSE YOU WANT TO BE MY FRIEND, KRIS! I_ AM _EXTREMELY GREAT.” Papyrus leaned down a little to take her hand. “COME ALONG! AS A FRIEND OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS, YOU SHALL BE KNOWN AND LOVED BY ALL! NYEH-HEH-HEH!”_

_Frisk sure hoped so, especially if the other monsters were as nice as he was. Even if they weren’t, she’d already made new friends, exactly like she was supposed to. Mama couldn’t be mad at her for that, and Chara couldn’t take them away from her!_

~

The dream with Asriel was a fitting end to a frustrating night. Sans had picked the biggest inn he could find and asked for a room with the biggest bed they had, only to find that it _still_ wasn’t big enough for him. He didn’t want to try sleeping in his disguise, which meant another night stretched out on the floor, longing for the massive bed in the High Priestess’ quarters. He never would have thought he’d _want_ to go back to the humans’ castle—that damn bed had spoiled him for life! Not to mention that when he was sleeping in it, he had Frisk all to himself…

He had just started dozing off when the door to the next room opened and closed, a couple of human voices whispering back and forth. Sans made the mistake of concluding that that was it, and was completely unprepared for the sounds that exploded through the wall a minute later.

Sans was not an expert on human…anything, but he knew was he was hearing, and that he was hearing it very very loudly. At that point, he had several options; after mulling exactly one of them over, he sat up and ran a thread of magic through the lamp fixture over the bed, worming it through the conduits in the wall and into the next room. From there, he could feel the vibrations of the bed moving – ugh – and spread his magic in a thin layer under one side of the mattress; then he twitched his hand, and grinned at the shrieks and thuds of the couple being dumped onto the floor.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t need to do anything else. The humans got dressed in a hurry, grabbed their things, and left, and did not come back. Sans let his magic dissipate and settled down, feeling a little smug, but mostly annoyed that the sounds were still stuck in his head.

The giant skeleton tossed and turned, dreamed, and got up in the morning a lot later than he intended; he was so unrested, and so disturbed at having seen Asriel – had it been real? Why and how would the Prince visit him of all people? Why now? – that he barely remembered to put his chain back on before he left the room. He forgot to ask directions when he checked out and had to grump his way around town at random, looking for the stables the warehouse lady had mentioned. He had to get the carts and horses, then go to all the stupid places and get the stupid things…

Well, this wasn’t the right way: he was on a street lined with cute little cafes and humans sitting around in fancy metal chairs. He stopped to get his bearings, and nearly swore as his stomach growled. At least there were food stands everywhere…but what the hell was a “crepe”?

A minute later, he found a place to sit down and gnaw on a couple of folded-over, chocolatey things, which were actually pretty good. There wasn’t much to do as he ate but people-watch, which would have been kind of neat if the people in question weren’t humans. They followed the overall pattern he’d observed at the castle, where the men were loud and stupid-looking, while the women were also loud and ranged from scrawny to actually-lumpy to _extremely_ lumpy. Even the ones with nice faces were still too…human, without any soothing voices, or graceful movements, or sweet expressions…

It made him wonder yet again if Frisk’s SOUL was the real reason he’d been so drawn to her; the first time he’d seen it, he was scared shitless, and then he wanted to rip it out for strictly non-romantic purposes. Was it because she’d reminded him so much of Kris? Or would he have just eventually fallen in love with any human who was powerful enough for him, even if she was a gross person on the outside or inside?

…Nope. It was because she was Frisk. Satisfied with that line of introspection, Sans finished the second crepe and tossed the wrappers in a trash can, forgetting that she wasn’t there to yell at him for littering. Time to ask someone for directions to a more useful part of town.

The first person he talked to just shrugged, and the next pointed him the wrong way entirely, but an irate half-hour later, Sans was back on the right track. This street seemed much dingier, with fewer people around; it smelled weird, too, like horse pee and desperation.

Maybe that was why someone had started following him. Sans smiled to himself, wiggling his fingers inside his coat pockets. Should he get further into the back alleyways before he confronted the guy, or—

“Heya.”

Sans glanced to his right. A man in his early twenties was standing by a side street, nodding at him. “C’mon this way,” he said. “Got somethin’ to show you.”

“I don’t think so, pal,” said the disguised boss monster. “Whatever ya want, you’re wastin’ yer time. Don’t have any cash on me.” Without waiting for an answer, he speed-walked further ahead, grinning as he heard a soft whistle behind him.

Sure enough, someone was waiting right around the next corner, an older man in nice clothes. “Excuse me, sir,” he said loudly, “but do you have the time?”

Sans thought of the old woman again and snorted. “Nope,” he replied, and tried to walk around him.

The man quick-stepped back into Sans’ way. “My. Her Eminence doesn’t pay you enough to buy a watch?” he asked innocently.

What the hell? He wasn’t wearing the armband. “Who said anythin’ about—”

The distraction almost worked: the guy made a sudden feint toward him, and if Sans had been any less alert, he’d have backed right into the human sneaking up to grab his neck with a wire loop. Instead, Sans pivoted and slammed an elbow into his would-be assailant so hard that he felt the guy’s ribs crack. The man who’d stopped him cursed under his breath, turning to run.

Almost absent-mindedly, Sans waved a finger in the fleeing human’s direction. There was a _shnk_ of bone erupting from the pavement, and a muffled scream as the man’s ankle was impaled mid-flight. The rest of his body yanked to a stop and hit the ground in a twisted heap.

Footsteps pounded toward them, and Sans turned to face the first guy who’d talked to him, then one other human. They sized up the situation and moved to either side of him, one armed with some kind of club and the other sporting a huge knife.

Sans gave a low laugh as bloodlust started bubbling to the surface. Finally! This was what he’d been waiting for! No more playing cute and harmless! No more letting people do whatever the hell they wanted with him! _No witnesses!_

Really, the only problem was that it was too easy. Sans let the one with the knife get in close, then grabbed his arm and broke it at the elbow, spinning the would-be assassin around and shoving him into the guy with the club. Both humans hit the ground, but the knife guy was up in a moment, scrabbling for his weapon with his good hand. Sans kicked the knife away, pinned _both_ of his palms to the ground with a couple more bones, and lifted the remaining human by the neck with his magic.

Was that it? He glanced around at the one with the wire loop – on the ground, struggling to breathe – then the guy with the impaled ankle, who seemed to have passed out. The third was staring at his hands and making weird noises – not very _knife_ of him, ha ha – and the last one dangled a few inches off the ground, clawing at the red mist around his throat.

Sans hummed under his breath, surveying the four men with an artistic eye. Well! Where to begin? Might as well start with the one he was holding up. The human windpipe was so fragile that one good crunch would do it…but no one said it’d have to be a _quick_ crunch. Sans began to apply pressure, slow and hard, and grinned as the man’s eyes bulged in terror—

Out of nowhere, he froze mid-squeeze as a strange emotion hit him. It was…nostalgia, and then—guilt? That was it; the longer Sans stared at the captive human, the less he enjoyed the guy’s fear and despair. He knew exactly what it felt like to be trapped by someone stronger, didn’t he? Back in his jail cell, cowering behind a human witch’s barrier, knowing she could do any damn thing she pleased to him—had he looked like this to her?

Sans shook his head in irritation. What was he thinking? That was different! He wasn’t Frisk, and these guys had tried to kill him!

…just like he’d tried to kill her before _and_ after she stopped him from hurting anyone. What had she done to retaliate? Kept him safe, given him her own stupidly oversized bed, let him sleep for over a day, and fed him more in one sitting than he’d eaten in goddamn _weeks_.

Sans tried again to shake it off, to rationalize that no one in their right mind would hold a psycho like him to Frisk’s standards, but when he looked again at the human in his grasp…

No, dammit! These assholes had attacked him out of nowhere, and he’d defended himself! Surely she wouldn’t expect him to just stand there and get murdered?

…But none of these guys could move under their own power anymore, much less hurt him. Now Sans could see Frisk snarling up at him in all her tiny, furious glory: _“If you kill anyone and you cannot look me in the eye to tell me why it was necessary, I don't want you to come back at_ all _!”_

Argh! It wasn’t fair! She wasn’t here to stop him—she would never even know! Why should he quit right when it was finally getting good? Couldn’t he at least nick ‘em a few more times, enough to make them sorry? They might be pretty sorry already, but… “But,” Sans mumbled out loud, scowling.

Now he was thinking of Dr. Serif. The boss monster could practically hear his cool, smug voice: “But what, Sans?”

Tch. If he had to be hearing things, he’d much rather it be Frisk. He knew he should’ve taken a shortcut back to the Underground last night. Then he could’ve seen her and…done…something? Maybe he wouldn’t be so damn frustrated now, his mind jumping all over the place…

“Sans.”

Oh, shit. What about the fortune-teller? _“Don’t kill anyone.”_ That guy had been right about stuff so far; would something happen to Frisk if Sans ignored his stupid, cheap advice? For all he knew, it could—

“SANS.”

“What?” he snapped. “Whaddya want, Doc…tor?” He gaped at Dr. Serif, who was standing only a few yards away, arms folded. “The fuck are you doin’ here?” demanded Sans, releasing the human from mid-air and ignoring his wheezing.

Dr. Serif came closer and made two gestures. A skeletal hand popped up and seized the fallen human by the throat, glowing green before vanishing. “He should live,” the royal sorcerer said crisply. He glanced at the man whose hands were affixed to the pavement, and the one up ahead. “In the meantime, do you plan to leave these gentlemen like that?”

Sans was still mad that he couldn’t leave them _dead_ , but… He made a disgusted noise, and the bones all vanished. “Ya gonna tell me why you’re here, or what?”

“What.” Dr. Serif walked past Sans and snapped his fingers. Two pairs of disembodied hands sprang out of thin air, and one latched onto each human’s head; to Sans’ immense discomfort, the hands glowed blue, and each man obediently got up with sluggish, jerky motions – even the one with the shattered ankle – to come sit in a row, legs crossed like schoolchildren. “Why did you attack this man?” Dr. Serif inquired. “Only speak if you have useful information.”

The human with the broken ribs mumbled, “He’s the High Priestess’ agent,” in a voice that made Sans feel even weirder. There was good old-fashioned violence, and there was this. “Gonna hold him for ransom and lure in the skeleton.”

“Do not lie to me.” The humans jerked, eyes going glassy as the blue intensified. “This is not an instrument of live capture,” said the royal sorcerer, retrieving the wire loop with yet another hand. “Why do you, or your employers, want him dead?”

There was a round of silence. Evidently, no one knew, or probably cared. They’d had their orders, and that was that.

Sans stepped closer. “Were you the ones going after Frisk a few weeks ago—the High Priestess? Are you gonna try it again?”

“Wasn’t us,” said one.

“No one’s supposed to kill her anymore,” said another, and his associates nodded slowly.

Dr. Serif blinked a few times. “According to who, and since when?”

“Last week. Someone paid the Assassin’s Guild to blacklist her. She’s untouchable—anyone who goes after her gets a bounty put on his head.”

Sans had never seen the royal sorcerer so taken aback. “I didn’t know that was even possible. It would cost several hundred thou—no, a million dinar to make it worth their while,” he muttered. “Do you have any idea who did it?”

More silence. Meanwhile, Sans was not that surprised to find out there was a formal guild for murderers. Humans were such fucking scumbags.

“Are you affiliated with poachers, then?” was Dr. Serif’s next question.

“Yeah,” they all said at once.

The doctor’s foot tapped a few times. “Does your attack on the priestess’ agent have to do with the timing of his delivery to the Underground? Fewer monsters will be venturing outside if food is being brought directly to them—I assume you wanted to prevent this?”

Sans watched the men’s faces stay blank. That was probably too many words for them. “What’re you gonna do if ya can’t catch any monsters?” he asked instead.

The blue light intensified again, and someone finally mumbled, “Ransom. The High Priestess will pay to get her agent back. She won’t know he’s dead yet.”

Dr. Serif frowned. “And you’re hoping she’ll send the boss monster to rescue him?”

Nods. “It’s worth a hell of a lot of money.”

There was an odd pause. “For his magic?” the doctor asked.

“And ransom. She’s screwin’ it,” one man said tonelessly.

Dr. Serif grabbed Sans’ shoulder to restrain him. “Surely you’re not taking that rumor seriously,” he said. “It can’t be worth the danger of trying to capture such a powerful monster—he was relatively weak when he was first caught, and two men still died of their injuries.”

“Lady payin’ us says it’s true. She doesn’t want Her Eminence arrested for mis…missen—”

“Miscegenation?” growled Sans.

“Yeah. That. She wants us to catch it, but not kill it. We’ll keep it and get a shitload of magic, then sell it back later. Win-win.”

“Hm. So, your employer is a woman who wants to help the High Priestess? What is her name?”

No one answered. The blue light flickered, and one man finally said, “Dunno. We just got a few letters, and payment up front. Pretty sure it’s a rich lady ‘cause of the handwriting and the way the paper smelled, but we don’t know for sure.”

The doctor stared the man down, still holding Sans’ shoulder. “And she has hired you to hold the skeleton prisoner…for how long, exactly? And through what means?”

The human shrugged. “She said she’d tell us more once we killed this guy.”

Dr. Serif thought about it for a moment, then snapped his fingers again. The skeletal hands tightened, and Sans watched the men writhe in tandem and fall sideways like puppets with cut strings. “Well, that was more interesting than expected,” said the royal sorcerer. His hand tightened on Sans’ shoulder. “Come along.”

Sans shut his eyes as magic surged around them. It didn’t have the rushing-through-space feel of his shortcuts; this was more as if the ground had jumped out from beneath their feet and just as quickly hopped back into place. He opened his eyes and started. “Where—”

They were standing outside a large, well-kept stable. The doctor released him, saying, “I must commend you for not killing any of those men. We’ve acquired valuable information, and once they wake up, word will get around that the High Priestess’ agent is not to be trifled with.” He smiled, ever so slightly. “They will not recall I was even there.”

Sans gestured impatiently. “What the fuck was that about? Someone wants human-me dead, but they just wanna borrow _real_ me to keep Frisk outta jail? An’ someone else’s paid out the ass to keep her alive? What’s—”

“It could well be the same person.” The royal sorcerer brushed some dust off his robe. “What is miscegenation?” he asked curtly.

Sans’ toes curled. “ _Boning_ a monster. It’s a literal crime. I heard somebody talking about it last night.”

“Interesting,” the doctor said slowly. “No one spreading that rumor in the city seems to know about it yet.” Sigh. “If you overheard it here, I suppose it’s only a matter of time before everyone knows.”

Sans didn’t want to talk about that right now, or ever. “How long were you following me?” he asked instead.

Pause. “Long enough.”

The boss monster didn’t like that, either. “Whatever,” Sans mumbled. “But thanks fer gettin’ all that stuff out of ‘em. You’re pretty freaky, but I guess ya come in _hand_ y.”

He heard the familiar sound of someone ignoring a pun, and then “You’re welcome.” Dr. Serif crossed his arms. “I was sent here to intercept you and the High Priestess. Given that I have not seen Her Eminence with you, may I assume you were foolish enough to come alone?”

“Uh…”

“As you were also foolish enough to leave the castle when and how you both did, I am not surprised.”

Sans snorted. “Ya think that was my idea?”

“No, but this almost certainly was.” The royal sorcerer gestured to the smushed roll of papers in Sans’ front pocket. “Come along. There should be three carts on reserve in Frisk’s name here, for when you were _supposed_ to have picked them up on your way to the Underground.”

Sans followed him into the stable. “What, ya didn’t like us bailin’ on you?” he asked, taking childish pleasure in the older skeleton’s annoyance.

The doctor reached back without looking and took the papers from Sans’ pocket. “Hello,” Dr. Serif said cordially to the human behind the counter, who stepped right up to assist them.

This turned out to be prophetic: the doctor not only accompanied him everywhere for the rest of the morning and afternoon, he took complete charge. He made things so much smoother that Sans couldn’t even be mad about it; people listened to him, and he could fully answer their questions while Sans inspected the cargo and supervised the loading. The doctor also signed the bills of lading, reminding Sans after the first visit that as a perfectly normal human and _not_ a monster in disguise, he was not “Sans” and needed to pick a pseudonym already.

They had almost no time to eat lunch or dinner, electing to grab a couple of sandwiches as the drivers brought the carts to the second-to-last warehouse. “So, was it your idea to swoop in on us like this?” Sans asked. “I know it was annoying to wake up and have us gone, but—”

“His Majesty is extremely unamused by his daughter’s behavior,” said the royal sorcerer, in a tone that wiped the smirk off Sans’ face. “To be very honest, I am glad I will not be there when Her Eminence receives this.” He extracted a long, expensive-looking envelope from his robe. “His Majesty assembled the paperwork yesterday for—”

“The adoption thing?” Sans interrupted. “Is it true?”

Dr. Serif made a face. “No matter where I go, the speed of gossip remains constant.” Another sigh. “Whatever you’ve heard is likely true. Should Frisk’s mission prove successful, His Majesty is prepared not only to pardon her theft, but place her directly in the line of succession.”

Sans took a long sip of water, trying and failing to figure that one out. “I thought ya said he was pissed off at her. Why…?”

“Tell me, Sans. Knowing Frisk, do you think she would appreciate being pressured into accepting such a heavy responsibility, especially in anticipation of her little brother’s death? His Majesty knows exactly how she will feel about it.” Dr. Serif paused for a huge bite of his sandwich. “Also, he may personally be unhappy with her actions, but he knows better than anyone that if she can outmaneuver him, then she is worthy of the throne.”

Fuck. “Yeah, when ya put it like that—”

The royal sorcerer glanced at him. “Out of curiosity, when did you learn that the King was her father?”

“Not till we were almost t’the Underground. I kinda found out by accident.”

Dr. Serif half-smiled. “It’s been common knowledge ever since she was brought to St. Brigid’s. And…by any chance, did she ever tell you anything about her mother?”

Sans had to whack himself in the chest as the last wad of his sandwich threatened to get stuck in his windpipe. Why did human bodies use the same damn tube for breathing and eating? “Only that she’s dead,” he rasped. “Why?”

“Wipe your hands, please, and put this somewhere safe until you can give it to her.” Dr. Serif held out the gilt envelope. “It contains copies of all the relevant documents, including an investiture of nobility—she would technically become a duchess first, then Crown Princess upon the death of the King or the Prince.”

Sans scrubbed his hands on his shirt and took the envelope. He was thinking so hard that he almost didn’t notice Frisk’s full name in fancy cursive across the front; then he looked again, and stared at it for a minute, and finally said, “Huh.”

“You don’t seem entirely surprised,” the doctor observed, sounding almost disappointed. “Have you already heard something to that effect?”

“Yeah. I had a long talk with Grillby the other day, and…I wasn’t gonna ask Frisk, but I was kinda wondering, and then she said…” Had the King done the calligraphy himself? “I never did hear her last name. I figured the High Priestess just doesn’t need one.”

“It was not hers to use for most of her life, and I would be _very_ surprised if she chose to do so now, or ever. According to what I have gleaned from Rosa, the name does not have pleasant associations for Frisk—another fact of which the King is very aware.”

“Holy shit.” Sans looked at the envelope again. “He’s callin’ her that ta piss her off?”

“It is technically her legal name and belongs on a document of this importance. So, yes.”

“Shit.” Sans scratched the back of his head, thinking even harder. “So whoever filled out the paperwork for him knows her name, too? Which means everyone is gonna know about it by the time we get back?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You’re coming back with her, then?” He let the question hang in the air, and Sans ignored it till Dr. Serif continued, “You are correct. I am genuinely sorry to leave this with you, but you will have to give her the news before you return, or else she will be completely blindsided. Please don’t do that to her.”

Sans wasn’t going to admit that the thought had already crossed his mind: throw the envelope away, let her enjoy the rest of her time in the Underground, and feign astonishment when they got back – hopefully triumphant – and found out she’d someday have the power to do literally anything she pleased, such as freeing monsters with a single decree.

Except…she was already helping monsters, and had already spent three lonely, stressful years as High Priestess. How much worse would her life be if she became the actual Queen? Would it technically fit that second fortune? Fear stabbed him so hard that he could barely breathe—what if she got surrounded by advisers and hangers-on determined to harass him away from her? There was no telling how long her father and half-brother would be around, and they probably wouldn’t let her keep a pet skeleton around, not to mention a suspiciously bony kid…

Sans couldn’t help it. Dr. Serif eyed him warily as the boss monster snickered again: a _fucking_ crime. It was too perfect.

The carts were ready now. The boss monster tucked the fancy envelope into an inner pocket and resolved to quit thinking about it for now. Frisk could handle this; she’d know what to do. If she didn’t, they’d figure it out together.

~

Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon was pretty uneventful. By the time they were ready to head back to the Underground, the sun was just touching the horizon.

Everything had fit into three large-ish carts, which Frisk had accurately predicted would be a better idea than two really huge ones. The drivers were nervous about starting so late in the day, but Dr. Serif had implied that they were just headed to the city, the road to which was well-lit and patrolled by watchmen. Sans got a huge kick out of seeing the humans’ faces when the procession reached the outskirts of the village, went about a hundred yards, and came to a sudden halt. “You may remove the horses now,” said the doctor. “Please return to the village. Here is a small gratuity for your trouble.”

If the humans had questions, they were effectively answered by the five-hundred-dinar pieces Dr. Serif placed in each of their hands. They unhitched the horses and jogged them back in the fast-fading light without a backward glance, leaving the loaded carts sitting in the road.

From there, the disguised monsters waited until no one was in sight – not difficult, given the hour and the cold – and then enacted the plan they’d agreed upon earlier: Sans encased the lightest cart in a film of red magic, thought carefully about the place by the river where Undyne had attacked him, and teleported the whole thing there. No more than ten seconds later, a large patch of blackness crept over the pale bedrock; Gaster rose from it head-first, followed by the carts, and everything settled into place as the ground shimmered back into ordinary rock-ness.

“What the crap?” Sans pulled his chain off. “How do you even have that much magic?”

Gaster brushed himself off again with two extra hands, keeping his own tucked beneath his flowing black coat. He glided in a circle around the carts, checking that they had made the journey safely, and nodded. “Surely you’re not worn out from one spell?”

“No, but I’m a damn boss monster!”

The older skeleton smiled. A hand appeared in front of Sans, holding a gray orb slightly bigger than the hole in its palm. “Humans use these to store magic. Keep at least one on your person at all times and let it absorb your ambient power. Put it away when full, then repeat the process. Do so regularly, and you will soon have a supply built up for contingencies exactly like this.” The hand and orb vanished. “Has Her Eminence used the teleportation spell I gave her yet?”

Sans remembered the brooch she’d gotten on All Souls Day, and shook his head. “I don’t think so, but she wears it a lot.”

“Good.” Gaster looked at the nearly-night sky. “Lead the way.”

The boss monster wondered exactly how many more of those stones Gaster had squirreled away in whatever fold of subspace he was using, and contented himself with the fact that the creepy bastard still seemed to be on their side—Sans hadn’t forgotten the fortune about bewaring him, but right now, he didn’t have much choice. Even the lightest of the carts was much heavier than the wagons full of monsters had been, and as tired as he was, he doubted he could’ve pulled or teleported them all on his own.

Gaster’s extra hands were pulling and pushing two of the carts with apparent ease as they followed the river. Sans tried to think of something that would pass the time without leading to invasive questions, and finally thought to ask, “The solar panel demonstration went okay?”

“Oh, yes.” Gaster’s voice was neutral, and it was impossible to read his expression in profile. “Someone attempted to sabotage it by cutting several of the wires on the main panel, so I used my own magic as a substitute. It was most impressive, if I say so myself.”

That sounded like one problem too many. They had enough crap to deal with in the Underground without worrying about sabotage or the King being passive-aggressive or some random lady who wanted to keep him away from Frisk! _Get in line,_ he thought bitterly.

“How is Her Eminence’s mission going?” asked Gaster, as if reading his mind.

“Pretty good, I think. Asgore hasn’t met with her yet, but he’s letting her do whatever.” Sans felt the corners of his mouth lift. “She’s spent a couple nights with Undyne and Alphys at Toriel’s house, havin’ some girl time. They went shopping yesterday, ‘n pro’ly today.”

Gaster nodded. “I don’t know how you intended to do this alone,” he said, glancing at the carts, “but given your accelerated timeline, I suppose it was the best way to let her enjoy herself for a day or two. It will also help her cause if the monsters see a great deal of her firsthand.”

Sans knew what he meant—all Frisk had to do to win them over was be herself. He didn’t notice that he was smiling until he felt Gaster’s stare; the other skeleton was suddenly in front of him, drifting backwards as Sans walked. “Don’t mind me,” murmured the royal sorcerer, examining the boss monster’s sternum.

“What’s my LV?” Sans asked bluntly.

Gaster reappeared beside the cart. “You are at LV 16.”

Sans was…almost surprised. Gaster gave him a hard look. “The first time I checked, you were—”

A sound off to their left made both skeletons stop to listen. It was faint, but unmistakable. “Keep going,” Gaster said, and they picked up the pace, both assuming their disguises.

There was no question of outrunning the humans, so they let the sound of hoofbeats gradually overtake them. “Well, well,” said the first rider, pulling up in front of the carts and forcing them to stop. Two more poachers rode up alongside, and three more brought up the rear. Each man had a coil of chain slung over his shoulder, and their leader carried a heavy crossbow. “What are you doing out here so late?” he demanded. “Where you headed with all that?”

“The Underground,” Dr. Serif said calmly. “We have no monsters or valuables with us, so if you would kindl—”

“Bullshit.” The leader nodded to the other men. “Search ‘em. There’s gotta be—”

Sans didn’t even see what happened next: an unseen force yanked each man out of the saddle to hit the bedrock, filling the air with thumps, whinnying, and curses. “This is your last warning,” said Dr. Serif, still sounding very reasonable. “Leave us, or you will suffer.”

When the men didn’t answer – except for more profanity – the doctor made a gesture. This time, Sans glimpsed the skeletal hands smacking the horses on the rump, one after another; the animals screamed in panic, nearly trampling their riders as they bolted in different directions.

The poachers gaped at each other, then at the human-shaped skeletons. “What the fuck are you?” demanded the leader. With no warning, he whipped up his crossbow to fire at—

—Gaster, whose body had vanished, leaving nothing but an eerie smile and empty sockets. “Well, then,” he murmured, his eyes lighting blue and yellow. He glanced at Sans. “Please go on without me. I will see you back at the castle in…” He paused, counting on a set of hands. “…nine days.” The fingers snapped once, twice, thrice. “My regards to Her Eminence.”

Sans opened his mouth to object, and the ground dropped out from beneath him.

~

Silence descended in his wake, leaving the poachers in abject terror. Without the carts’ lanterns, it was impossible to see anything but the light in Gaster’s sockets. “Well,” the monster said. He looked at the men with mild curiosity, like a child with a jar full of insects. The leader jerked as a hand suddenly latched onto his face. “Can I trust you to keep this little encounter a secret?” asked Gaster.

The man nodded frantically, clawing at the hand as blood began welling under its phalanges. The others nodded, too, babbling reassurance.

“Good,” the skeleton said pleasantly. The humans had exactly enough time to start hoping before his eye-lights dilated, illuminating the hideous, masklike face. “What a pity that I do not believe you.”

There was a gruesome sound, and another, and another, and another. Silence; a tide of magic rose and swept over the bedrock, leaving nothing behind but a few splashes of blood.

Gaster nodded in satisfaction and turned to rinse his hands in the river, humming Sans’ favorite song. He paused long enough to chuckle to himself, then brushed his coat off once more, extracted a fresh stone from his coat, and vanished.

~

The sentries outside the Grand Hall’s gates rolled their eyes as another knock came from within. “Any sign of him?” someone asked through the crack.

“No,” the rabbit monster snapped. “For the last time, you don’t need to keep asking every ten minutes! We’ll _tell_ you when he—”

A long, low sound from the opposite direction cut him short. “Sans?” called the guard.

“The one an’ only,” a gruff voice answered over the rise. In the still, cold air, they could now hear the sound of wheels on sandy rock, and the labored breathing of a boss monster managing three heavily laden carts by himself. “Can I get some damn help here?”

Twenty minutes later, Sans had recovered enough to get up from the cavern floor and hobble through the swarm of hungry monsters by the gates, some of whom had been waiting all day for their share of the food. “You guys don’t need to inspect it,” the colossal skeleton informed the guards, who were busy walking around the carts and poking them at random. “Me an’…someone I trust watched ‘em load it up.”

The rabbit guard looked at his partner, then at Sans. “This came from humans, right? It’s probably gotta be—”

“It’s gotta get out to people _now_ ,” Sans growled. He pointed at someone randomly. “Go get more help, whoever’s awake. I’m gonna go find Her Majesty.”

“No need,” said a clear voice. The monsters all bowed out of the way as Toriel stepped off the patchy gray sand of the central aisle. “I am glad to see you back safely, Sans. Thank you so much for your efforts,” said the former Queen. “Please, get some sleep. I will handle the rest.”

Sans was so tired that he could barely stay upright, but he shook his head. “I’m gonna check in with Asgore first.” Toriel’s face darkened, and he sighed. “C’mon, To—Your Majesty, ya know he’ll freak out if he finds out this came in without ‘im knowing.”

The other boss monster sighed, closing her eyes. “True. And if you go now, you may run into the Captain and Dr. Alphys. They will also want to know you’ve arrived safely. But after that, I want you go straight home! Do you hear me?”

He did, but sleep could wait: if those two were at Asgore’s house, then Frisk might be, too. His magic flared up, and without another thought, the skeleton took himself straight there.

Remembering how easily the women had detected him before, Sans aimed for the end of the house near the master bedroom, and caught himself with only a slight stagger into the wall. Voices were coming from the living room; the boss monster waited for his vision to clear, then pushed himself upright and crept down the hall to listen.

“It is lovely,” Asgore was murmuring. There was a musical clinking of fine metal and china—the King must be looking at the tea service Frisk had picked out for him.

“Yeah, she was pretty proud of it. Everything she’s brought has been awesome,” agreed Undyne.

Sans scowled. Frisk wasn’t here after all. Well, he didn’t have enough magic to zero in on wherever she was, and Undyne was still talking, so he might as well eavesdrop. “She got me some targets, and comi—uh, battle strategies, and stuff for my scales. It was really thoughtful,” said the Royal Guard Captain.

“And I can finally finish _Adventure Lady_!” Alphys exclaimed. “C-can you believe it?!”

To Sans’ surprise, Asgore chuckled. He didn’t think the King knew how to do that anymore. “I’m glad to hear it, Doctor. I know how much that was bothering you.” Clink. “What about the agricultural implements Sans mentioned?”

“Yes, Y-Your Majesty. We spent a few hours today looking them over—she knows how to treat plants so that they can go _days_ without being watered! We t-talked about different chemicals that can improve the quality of our soil, specific nutrients for whichever crops we decide to plant first, and all the seeds she brought. The next step is to decide which fields to convert to pasture if we want to raise c-cattle or sheep.”

“Hmm. Yes, that would be wonderful.” Sans heard tea being poured and china clinking again. “What else has she been up to?” asked the King.

“We went shopping for clothes yesterday,” the Captain said, “and Mettaton is teaching her how to dance. It was pretty fun—did you hear he wants to have a big party before she leaves?”

“Yes, I have. Some festivities could be good for our people, but…we’ll see.”

“Right.” She cleared her throat. “And just so you know, Majesty, we’ve spent the past couple nights at the Ruins.”

A long pause. “I…see. Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah,” Undyne said quietly. “Everyone did.”

“That…” Asgore heaved a great sigh. “That’s good to hear. What about today?”

Undyne’s chair creaked. “Today was a little more complicated. She checked on some of the people she brought back—not that she busted in on anyone,” the fish monster added hastily. “She only got started ‘cause Vulkin asked her to come visit.”

Asgore made a startled noise. “Vulkin wanted to see her? _Why_?”

Sans wanted to run in and shake the King like the idiot he was, but he edged back and tried to think nicer thoughts as Undyne answered, “She said Frisk was the only human who ever gave a crap about them, basically, and her family wanted to meet her. We ended up staying for over an hour.” Another pause. “Also, Majesty…Frisk’s got this thing she does where she can hum something at you, and it’s…really nice. Not hypnosis or anything sneaky, it just…” Sans could almost hear Undyne shrug. “Right before we left, Vulkin started getting worked up, and Frisk calmed her down just like that.”

“She’s done it for us, too, right before bedtime,” said Alphys. “I haven’t s-slept so well in forever.”

“Hm. She has other abilities, then, besides creating barriers?” He poured more tea. “Have you investigated her capabilities in that respect?”

“N-No, Your Majesty. She wanted to have your permission before she made any, even j-just to study them in the lab.”

Sans got the feeling that Asgore was a little put out by Frisk conducting herself so well. “If you believe she is trustworthy,” said the King, “then by all means, study her barriers as fully as you can. The knowledge may prove…useful.” More clinking. “Thank you for your time, both of you. Get some rest. And…” His voice softened. “Please thank her for the gift.”

The giant skeleton smiled a little. Before they could get up and notice him lurking in the hall, Sans used the tiniest wisp of magic – all that he had left – to whisk himself outside to the courtyard. He waited by the tree, foot raised as if in mid-step; when the door opened, Asgore saw him and started. “Sans! You’re back!”

“Hey, Majesty.” Sans raised a genuinely weary hand. “Yeah, I just got in with all the stuff. Everything’s fine. Just wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you very much,” the King said heartily, another trace of his old self showing. “I’ll be down right away.”

“Uh.” The bigger boss monster fake-coughed. “Please don’t, Yer Majesty. Someone’s already got it under control.”

Blink. “Some…oh.”

“Hey, you,” Undyne said, moving around Asgore and hopping down the stairs in one easy bound. “How’d it go? Are you okay?”

“It’s fine, ‘m just worn out.” Sans let out a full-force yawn. “I’ll walk back with you guys,” he said as Alphys came down the steps.

“All right, then,” Asgore murmured. “Thank you again, Sans.” The skeleton nodded, and they politely waited for the door to close before turning to leave.

“Don’t even think about it” was the first thing out of Undyne’s mouth. “She’s asleep already.”

Sans was too tired not to ask, “Where? Tori’s again?”

“I’m not telling you!” snapped the fish-woman. “We had a lot of fun yesterday, but today was pretty rough on her.” She eyed him as they stepped into the elevator and waited for the grating to close. “You don’t look so hot, either.”

“I will be in a minute.” Sans swayed on his feet as the elevator descended. “After all, we’re goin’ to _Hot_ land.”

Undyne twitched. “Nope. We’re not doing those.”

“Aww, c’mon, fish-face.” Yawn. “I’m just gettin’ _warmed_ _up_.”

Twitch. “I’m serious, boss. Drop it.”

“Drop it like…it’s _hot_?”

“I SAID—”

The elevator ground to a halt, and he felt Alphys tug on his coat. “L-Let’s go to my lab, Sans. You can take a nap and get some magic back befo— _not yet_!”

Sans had the impression of falling and something grabbing him, but he didn’t pay much attention till Undyne heaved him onto the lab’s concrete floor. “Ow,” he tried to say, but it was too much effort; he decided to pass out instead.

~

_They weren’t heading to the family’s main house; for some reason, Asriel had insisted she come with him to the one in the Ruins, where he and his mother had been living before the delegation arrived. He’d told her that he had a surprise for her, but he was so anxious that she didn’t think it was going to be a good one._

_Good or not, she had to admit that when Asriel opened the bedroom door and motioned her inside, she was_ very _surprised: she backpedaled so hard that she crashed into his legs._

_“It’s all right,” said Chara, very quietly, from her seat on the bed. “I wouldn’t be glad to see me, either.”_

_“Chara,” Asriel protested._

_“It’s true.” The woman watched Frisk lean into Asriel, clutching his robe with one small hand. “Isn’t it, Frisk?” she added._

_The child inhaled sharply, looking up at the Prince in alarm. “It’s all right,” he told her, smiling with such affection that she had to smile back. “I know all about you, Frisk. You’re ten years old, and you’re a girl, and you belong here. In fact, you could say you’ve come home.” He looked at Chara, beaming. “Right, sis?”_

~

Sans must have teleported from the lab at some point – maybe in his sleep – because when he properly awoke, he was in his own room. The boss monster sat up and turned the light on with a speck of magic. A glance at the clock made him do a double take: how was it almost ten o’clock?! Sans sprang to his feet and zipped down to the living room.

No one was there, but he heard children running around outside, with the occasional shriek of happiness, or anger, or possibly disembowelment—he never could tell with kids. There was Papyrus’ voice, and Undyne’s; then he heard Frisk, and without thinking, he took another shortcut out beside the house.

Before San could get his bearings, a handful of snow hit him upside the head. “Morning, boss!” shouted Undyne. “About time!”

“GOOD MORNING, BROTHER!” Papyrus raised his head from beneath a pile of children. “WE ARE AT WAR! WOULD YOU CARE TO JOIN US?”

Sans blinked. “War?”

“Yes, indeed,” Frisk said gravely, and he looked up to see her standing on the balcony, not far above his eye level. Magic rippled through him in gentle waves as she smiled. “Is everyone ready?” she asked the monsters.

The giant skeleton came forward for a better view as the children sprang to their feet, or paws, or seahorse tail. Frisk dipped something into a narrow bottle, raised it to her mouth, and leaned over the railing to blow a stream of huge, wobbly, fast-floating bubbles.

In an instant, the kids were charging after them, leaping and clawing and even biting them joyfully out of the air. Frisk dipped the stick again and angled herself toward Papyrus to blow another round of bubbles; instead of popping them, the younger skeleton surrounded each one in blue and sent them flying in all directions, which was Undyne’s cue to materialize a short spear and leap after them, yelling, “Ngahhh! Come back here, you cowards!”

When the last bubble had been vanquished, Frisk made even more of them, almost obscuring the pack of children; this time, Papyrus used his magic to grab _all_ the bubbles, and instead of chasing after them, the kids tackled him again. Undyne coordinated the assault, directing her troops to surround the enemy and attack as a unit, ignoring Papyrus’ protests of being muuuurdered and that she could _not_ have his pirate-ship bed once he was dust, because for the hundredth time even if she _did_ have an eyepatch that did _not_ mean she deserved to be a pirate more than him. Then everyone scattered again for Frisk to send another batch the kids’ way, and two more groups for Papyrus to keep away from Undyne.

It was hard to say who was enjoying themselves the most. Sans hadn’t seen his brother playing like this in…how long? Even some of the adult monsters were coming over to watch, standing around and chatting with each other, or asking Frisk how she’d made the bubbles and happily accepting the extra bottles she tossed down for them. It was like she’d never left…

A thought struck him, and he backed further away from the house to crane his neck all the way upward. There it was, the thin brown haze of negative energy that’d been accumulating since he absorbed the last round of it. …But—

Sans had avoided looking too directly at Frisk, and tried to take another quick peek now, only for his eyes to lock onto her. She’d taken off her cloak, revealing one of probably many new outfits: a dark-green velvet dress that accented the curves of her bust and hips, silver earrings that shimmered as she bent down to refill the bottle, and gray boots that reminded him of the fact that she had feet.

And when he finally managed to look back up toward her face, he was ambushed by the sight of a black choker. The damn thing looked like a collar, but it wasn’t even trying to be practical; it was just a little bit of lace hugging her neck, and a flagrant reminder that most things wearing collars had nothing else on. He’d contemplated keeping her as a pet, once upon a time, before he even—

Suddenly, Undyne vaulted onto his shoulder, crashing his nasal ridge into the bottom edge of the balcony. The Royal Guard Captain rapped him on the skull with the butt of her spear, dispelling the last of his lust-induced stupor. “Quit staring, moron,” she hissed, and gestured to Frisk. “C’mon, lady, we need more bad guys to kill,” the fish monster said in a normal tone, raising her voice to finish, “unless Papyrus is too _weak_ to keep going!”

“I AM NOT!” The skeleton stomped his foot in feeble rage, trying to catch his breath as Undyne leapt down. “BUT PERHAPS…PERHAPS WE COULD TAKE A BREAK, FOR THE CHILDREN?” Two small monsters ran circles around him as he desperately added, “THEY SEEM VERY TIRED, NYEH-HEH!”

Frisk bit her lip, and Sans wanted more than ever to scoop her up for a giant hug—not only was it always hot when she did that, it meant she wanted to help Pap without hurting his feelings. Luckily for everyone, his mouth-related thoughts suddenly turned in a more wholesome direction. “Hey,” Sans murmured, catching her attention. “Ya know what you oughta do?”

The others stopped as Frisk leaned down to hear him whisper. “That’s a _wonderful_ idea,” the priestess said warmly, and Sans felt his skull turn red. “Here, Undyne, I want the children to help me try something,” Frisk told her, dipping the wand again. “You two can supervise.”

Papyrus was happy to accept his new role, and Sans also paid close attention to Frisk’s lips as she blew a long, low stream of smaller bubbles. The kids grabbed at them and squealed as a sound followed each pop—to their delight, every bubble now contained a tiny burst of music.

Undyne reached out to poke one. “What, did you whistle into ‘em?” She jumped at the sudden sound, then laughed, popping another one. “That’s so damn cool!”

“Sans thought of it,” Frisk said. She was grinning from ear to ear, almost prancing in place. “Here!” This time, instead of a single pitch, she whistled a scale of several notes, sliding up and back down; when the children popped them, it produced a whole tangle of sounds. The adult monsters drew closer as more bubbles drifted and burst, scattering bits of music through the chilly air.

“Yo!” cried Monster Kid, bounding nearly straight up for emphasis. “Guys! Let’s try to make ‘em into a song again!”

The adults chuckled and shook their heads, but the children loved the idea. And as it turned out, they were right: the sheer futility of trying to break the bubbles in the right order was so much fun that, before they knew it, nearly every monster in the field was chasing after them. No one could hear much of anything over all the shouting and laughter, but that was okay. Everything was okay.

“Sans?”

Still smiling, the giant skeleton turned to face Toriel, noting that she was coming from the ferry and not the Ruins. “What’s all this?” she asked.

“We’re slaughtering our foes in glorious battle,” a cute little bunny said in passing. “It sounds pretty!”

“LIKE THIS, YOUR MAJESTY!” Papyrus demonstrated with a couple of quick jabs.

Toriel’s eyes widened as the sounds made a faint chord. “How wonderful!” She looked in amazement at the crowd of happy, energetic monsters. “You haven’t even received your rations yet—is this an early celebration?”

“Nah, it’s just fun,” Undyne said cheerfully. “People were fighting over who was gonna get what, and the kids were upset, so Frisk showed ‘em how she could make this stuff. Next thing you know—” Quick as scaled lightning, the Captain flicked an energy-toothpick at a bubble overhead, grinning at the resultant chime. “F sharp! Nice.” With a salute to Toriel, Undyne was off again, lifting a couple of random children onto her shoulders.

“How wonderful,” Toriel said again. She sighed, looking fondly up at the balcony. Frisk was starting to puff a bit, but clearly determined to keep going. “What a fine young woman she’s become! It’s almost like having Chara back with us.”

Sans shuffled his slippered feet. He knew it was the highest compliment Toriel could give, but the comparison really rubbed him the wrong way. Not only had he heard a _lot_ of things recently, he couldn’t shake the dream he’d just had—the Prince so eager to have Frisk and Chara back together, and the child trying to be good, but unable to hide her fear and uncertainty…

And speaking of Asriel: _“Tell her I’m sorry.”_ What was that about? Who was—

Suddenly, the dreams clicked together in his mind like puzzle pieces. Asriel had tricked Frisk into meeting with Chara, knowing perfectly well that the poor kid didn’t want to. Was he only sorry for that, or had something else happened afterward, awful enough to make Asriel want to apologize from beyond the friggin’ grave?

Toriel was saying something, and the skeleton shook his head. “Sorry, Tori. What was that?”

She cleared her throat. “I was asking if you’ve met the boy who’s courting her. Frisk said he’s very kind, and wealthy, but…she didn’t seem terribly enthusiastic.”

Sans almost laughed out loud. So much crap was going on that he’d actually forgotten about that guy! “Had some girl talk, huh?” he asked carelessly, shoving his emotions way, _way_ back down and hoping his eyes weren’t glowing.

The goat monster chuckled, still watching the field. “We stayed up the other night to discuss where to distribute all the food you were bringing. Afterward, yes, we did talk about her love life.”

He made an indifferent noise. He was fine. He could do this. “I met the guy once,” he said. “Kinda boring, but I guess he could be worse.”

Toriel nodded. Her ear twitched as a longer, sweeter trill came from above—Frisk was pulling out all the stops, Sans thought proudly. “Were you there when she spoke to the fortune-teller?” she asked.

The skeleton made himself shrug, as if he wasn’t screaming internally. Stupid girl talk! How much had Frisk told her?

Well, the fact that Toriel hadn’t murdered the shit out of him meant she probably didn’t know everything yet. How she was failing to connect the dots between Frisk and Sans’ human love interest was beyond him, but he’d keep playing along for now. “Yeah, I went with her to that festival,” he said. “Pretty weird stuff. Apparently, she’s on track to have a kid soon.”

Toriel grimaced. “I certainly hope not. Frisk is _much_ too young for that kind of responsibility.”

Sans snorted, and Toriel turned to glare at him. “Sorry, but ya haven’t seen her in action,” he said. “The first time I met her, she kept me from killin’ a whole bunch of people, all by herself, an’ she wouldn’t let ‘em kill me back. She got all bloody fixin’ up some kid who came to ‘er for help at two in the morning, she’s payin’ everything for three or four different orphanages that I know of, she keeps tabs on anyone in the whole damn kingdom who _might_ need help, and she’s workin’ on freein’ us, too.” He shook his head. “She’s not a little kid anymore, Tori. She’s got so much crap ta deal with, and she’s been takin’ care of it all on her own. As long as she finds the right guy, it’s…”

He had to stop before he got any more worked up. Luckily, Toriel was too deep in thought to notice. “That does sound impressive, but you’re right. Her happiness depends on whether she can find a good husband, one she can trust to stand by her and _care_ about her children—”

Now they were both grim and silent. “Just a few more,” the human called from above them.

She sounded so breathless that Sans shook his head, reaching up to tap on the railing. “Hey, Frisk? Quit it before ya pass out.”

Toriel listened for a moment, then nodded. Sans watched her stride out to the middle of the field and clap her hands. “Everyone,” she said, “I am glad you’ve enjoyed yourselves, but please return to your homes now. The Royal Guard will be here shortly to deliver your share of the supplies that Frisk arranged for us and Sans brought in last night.” The former Queen nodded benignly in their direction. “Thank you, both of you.”

The giant skeleton was rather embarrassed by the round of applause that followed, though Frisk seemed to take it in stride. Then again, it could be the fact that she was barely conscious. “Time to come in, Pap,” Sans said, jerking his head as the monsters bid each other cheerful farewells and went their separate ways. The children still seemed more excited about the bubbles than the prospect of food—were the poor little bastards just used to being hungry by now?

There was no need to ask Undyne to take care of Frisk: she had already jumped straight onto the balcony and was assisting the human inside. Sans teleported into the living room, where he immediately got in the way of the Captain half-carrying her down to the couch. “’m fine,” Frisk muttered.

Sans leaned over her, scowling. “Ya _need_ your breath, kid. Don’t use it all up next time.” Now that he was closer, he could also see dark circles under her eyes. “How much sleep didja get last night?” he demanded, and looked at Undyne. “Were you guys at Tori’s house?”

“No,” the goat monster said, shutting the door behind her and coming to sit beside Frisk. “Mettaton kept her up so late that she spent the night at the resort.” Toriel’s hand came up, glowing green, and brushed Frisk’s cheek. “If you had stayed with _me_ , child, I’d have made sure you rested properly.”

The priestess rubbed some feeling back into her lips. “I beg to differ,” she said a moment later. “Remember how afraid I was to fall asleep that second night? Undyne was already mad because I caught her cheating at cards—”

The Captain swelled like a pufferfish. “For the _last time_ , I didn’t frickin’ cheat! My 6 got stuck behind my queen, and I didn’t know it was there when you asked for it!”

“Mmmm-hm.” Frisk let her head fall against Toriel’s shoulder as the goat monster stroked her hair. Sans had to look away, more irritated than ever—how stupid was it to be jealous of someone mothering her? Especially considering what she’d had for an actual mom…

“Anyway,” said Undyne. She glanced at Sans, saw his expression, and whacked him again to get his attention. “You know what your damn human did to me?” Frisk smirked as Undyne pantomimed writing huge letters across her own face. “GO FISH. Is that the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard, or what?”

Sans snickered. “What? She was probably just being supportive. You know, ‘go—”

Frisk and Toriel dissolved into laughter as the Captain smacked her forehead with one webbed hand. “Argh! That’s the same dumb thing _she_ said!”

“It’s all right,” the human said, in what Sans gleefully recognized as her pre-pun voice. “I guess our humor is just that so _fish_ ticated.”

“NOOOOO,” moaned Papyrus, who had just come inside. “NOT YOU, TOO, NYEHH!”

“What’s wrong?” asked Sans, winking at Toriel as she covered her face with one hand. “Are you mad enough to _krill_ someone?”

“SO HELP ME, YOU TWO, I WILL LEAVE THIS HOUSE AND NEVER—”

“But it’s so nice to _sea_ you,” Frisk said, and Sans snorted so hard that he had to sit down before he fell over. Toriel was giggling uncontrollably, clutching her sides; Undyne just shook her head and retreated into the storage room behind the kitchen cabinet.

Papyrus looked mollified. “YES, I KNOW. BUT I—” He stopped, and they nearly died as they watched it hit him. “GRAAAAH! IF HER MAJESTY WAS NOT HERE, I’D—”

“It’s all right, Papyrus,” Toriel said behind her hand. “I know I can trust you to control your temper.” Papyrus nodded, and the goat monster added, “You’ve always been a paci _fish_ t!”

Undyne poked her head into the kitchen, raising her voice over the din: “Pap! Get away from those nerds and come help me! We need to make room for your stuff when it gets here.”

The younger skeleton sighed dramatically, even for him. “NYEH-HEH! I SUPPOSE I MAY AS WELL. AT LEAST SOMEONE AROUND HERE WILL BE DOING SOMETHING USEFUL!”

“Thank you. You’re the least _shellfish_ person we know,” squeaked Frisk, at which Papyrus made an incoherent sound and stormed off into the kitchen.

Sans was pounding the floor, the women nearly sobbing. “Children—children, please,” Toriel said weakly, wiping her eyes. “Really, it’s time to calm down now.” A long pause… “We can’t keep _kraken_ up like this!”

“Oh my God, they’re gonna kill themselves,” Undyne grumbled from the storage room. They had closed the cabinet door, but it wasn’t soundproof enough. “Let’s move some of this stuff to the shed, and…hey, what’s this?” She picked up a heavy package lying in the back corner. “Huh. Looks like one of Frisk’s. Pap, go ask—”

“SANS! POSSIBLY FRISK!” Papyrus charged into the living room, hoisting the box over his head and nearly tripping over his brother. “IS THIS A FORGOTTEN PUZZLE?! MAY I OPEN IT TO KEEP IT COMPANY?”

“Oh!” Frisk gave a last _snrk_ and accepted a clean handkerchief from Toriel to wipe her face. “Actually, Papyrus, that one is for Sans.”

“Wha?” The giant skeleton sat up and quirked a brow at her. “What’re you talkin’ about? I was with ya when we bought all this crap, and I don’t remember you gettin’ me anything.”

“That’s because you weren’t paying attention,” the priestess retorted.

…She had a point. There had been quite a few times when they were in a shop and he was so bored that she could’ve been plotting the death of all monsterkind without him noticing.

“SURPRISE PUZZLES ARE THE BEST KIND! OPEN IT ALREADY!” urged Papyrus, shoving the gift at his brother’s face.

“Yeah, boss,” Undyne said from the kitchen. “Don’t be so damn shy.”

“I’m not bein’ shy! I just…I wasn’t expectin’ it.” Scowling, Sans grabbed the package and dug his phalanges into the lid. One good rip would get this over w—

“Sans!” Frisk’s voice made him hunch his shoulders like a guilty kid. “If you tear it open like that and break something, I will _end_ you! Do you understand?”

The others watched the colossal skeleton set the package down gently, unwrapping the paper and moving it aside as though it was made of glass. Toriel and Undyne exchanged disbelieving glances as Sans located the box’s tucked-in corners, eased them loose, and picked at the ribbons tying it shut.

But a moment later, as he removed the last layers of tissue paper, their amusement faded into gasps and murmurs. Inside the box lay a chessboard gleaming in white marble and flawless onyx, each of the pieces individually wrapped and set in neat rows.

Undyne chose one at random and peeled the paper away to reveal a knight astride a black pegasus, wings spread and hooves ready to strike. “Whoa!” She picked another, this one a rook carved in the shape of a ruined tower, complete with crumbling bricks and a few tiny bird’s nests in the windows. “Where’d you find this?! Are you gonna teach him how to play?”

“We did most nights back at the castle.” Frisk shrugged. “He beat me every time.”

“Incredible,” murmured Toriel. She took the knight and held it up to examine the sculpting of its plumelike tail. “Humans have such an amazing capacity for beauty. I never could understand…” The goat monster sighed, handing the piece back. “What do you think, Sans?”

Sans couldn’t answer. He’d calmed down a lot after all the fish puns, and he would have been fine just hanging out with everyone until the Royal Guard came by. He hadn’t known Frisk was going to give him anything, much less something beautiful and thoughtful and completely perfect—like her, dammit. How was he supposed to stop feeling all these feelings when she kept doing things?

The pause became more and more uncomfortable as he glowered at the chessboard, heat building around his SOUL until he wanted more than ever to just rip his clothes off right there. “PSST! BROTHER!” Papyrus nudged him. “YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO SAY, ‘THANK YOU FOR THE MAGNIFICENT PUZZLE, NYEH-HEH! I SHOULD ASK THE GREAT PAPYRUS TO PLAY IT WITH ME, AND WEEP GENTLY WHEN I LOSE!’”

Sans fidgeted, and Frisk looked expectant. “This’s…ya know, ya didn’t hafta waste a bunch more money on somethin’ we—” His head snapped up, startling everyone. “Hey, there’s the Royal Guard! They probably need help, right? Let’s go help!”

“SANS,” Papyrus began, and huffed as his brother disappeared. “THAT’S NOT WHAT I TOLD HIM TO SAY AT ALL! HOW DID HE GET IT SO VERY WRONG?”

~

Sans was not surprised by the others’ reactions when they joined him a few minutes later at the cart by the town Christmas tree. He could only imagine what they’d been saying, though the glare Undyne was giving him made _her_ opinion pretty clear.

“Good day,” Toriel said to the cat monster holding the supply list, ignoring Sans entirely. The cart had just come through Waterfall, the sacks and crates patterned with condensation that was already freezing into ice crystals. “I have a very selfish request,” the former Queen continued. “As you know, I was awake for the entire night, and I am extremely weary. I would like to bring my share home with me now, unless of course you need me to—”

“You were up the whole night, Lady Toriel?” Frisk repeated, one hand on the side of the cart. She frowned, then rounded on Sans so fast that he flinched. “You want to be helpful, don’t you? Then you can take her and her things back to the Ruins!” An imperious gesture at the three guards. “The list, please,” she ordered in her High Priestess voice.

The cat-lady handed it over, bemused. The tiny human ran her finger down the page, nodded, and turned to the cart. “It should all be in that crate, there, and that stack of—look where I’m pointing! Yes, that one, and those over there. No, don’t put it—”

Sans obeyed her as fast as he could, setting the boxes neatly beside Toriel. Frisk checked them over again, then handed the list back to the feline guard. “That should be correct, but if you find any discrepancies, let me know. Has everything gone according to plan so far? No thefts or serious disputes?”

“No, milady,” the guard replied. “We should be finished by this evening at the latest.”

Frisk smiled. “Excellent work. Please keep it up.”

The Royal Guard all saluted. Toriel’s eyebrows were raised, and Sans wished she’d look at him so he could mouth _Told you so_. “Good job, guys,” said Undyne, not bothering to hide her grin. “It looks like you’ve got this under control, so Frisk and I are gonna go see Alphys now. You coming, Pap?”

“HMM.” He glanced from her to his brother and crossed his arms, clearly torn. “SHOULDN’T I STAY AND HELP PUT OUR FOOD AWAY?”

“Oh, but Sans wants to help _so much_ , we shouldn’t take that from him.” Undyne looked daggers – spears? – at the giant skeleton. “He can come right back here and do it after he drops off Her Majesty. Right?”

Dammit. “Right,” grunted Sans.

Frisk was already starting to turn away. He cast around for an excuse to talk to her again, and said, “Hey.” She glanced at him as he rummaged in his inner pockets. “Ya want those invoices back?”

The priestess frowned at him. He _hated_ it when she did that, especially when he deserved it. “I suppose it could be useful when I talk to His Majesty.” She started to extend a hand, and her eyes widened. “That’s right,” she said to the guards. “Did you give him my note?”

“Yes.” The dragon guard cleared his throat. “He said no.”

“What R02 _meant_ to say,” growled the cat monster, “is that King Asgore regrets he will not be available to speak with anyone today.”

“But he does want to talk to Sans,” the rabbit said helpfully, “and Dr. Alphys.”

“I see,” Frisk murmured. “Thank you.” As Undyne glared at R01, the human stepped back, pulling her cloak around her. “You’d better keep them to show His Majesty, then.”

Sans shrugged, rolled the papers back up, and opened his coat wider to find exactly where they’d been. All he could think about was reaching over to tug down her choker where it was riding too high on her throat; he didn’t remember what else was in his pockets until he noticed her staring at something inside his coat. His SOUL tingled in alarm: the King’s golden envelope was sticking up partway, with the letters _FRISK D_ showing. “Sans? What is that?”

“…Uh.” Fuck. It was too late to disappear again. He glanced around at everyone listening, and at Frisk, who was already unhappy because of him. Was this really the time to tell her what her father was planning, and that the humans all knew her name now? “It’s…I-I’ll show ya later, I promise. There’s a bunch of stuff we’ve gotta talk about.”

Her frown deepened. “Agreed.” Just like that, Frisk turned to smile at Papyrus. “Shall we?”

“CERTAINLY!” He gallantly held his arm out to her, neither of them noticing how Sans’ socket twitched.

Before the bigger skeleton could say something stupid, a touch on his radius made him spin around. “If you could take me home now, I would greatly appreciate it,” Toriel said quietly.

“Sure.” He gave Frisk one last glance. “Have fun, guys.”

Undyne made another face at him, and Papyrus waved. “GOODBYE, SANS! HAVE FUN! PLEASE BE USEFUL TO HER MAJESTY AND NOT RUN OFF AGAIN BECAUSE YOU ARE EMOTIONALLY INCOMPETENT!”

Sans twitched again, and Frisk smirked. “Have a good rest, Lady Toriel,” she said over her shoulder.

“Enjoy yourselves,” Toriel replied cheerfully. But the moment the trio was out of sight, the goat monster’s smile vanished. “Back to the Ruins, please,” she said coolly.

Sans had a headache already. “Yes’m,” he mumbled. At least all this inner turmoil meant he was generating plenty of magic: she laid a hand on his arm, he made a swiping gesture at the crates, and they were all standing in the entryway of Toriel’s house, easy as butterscotch-cinnamon pie.

“I wish I could do that,” the goat monster commented, not for the first time. “Can you bring those to the kitchen for me?” She strode ahead, briskly opening cabinets and moving things aside to make room. “Also, please tell me what the matter is.”

Sans grunted, twitching a finger to waft the crates over. “Do me a favor, Tori, and gimme a check. You can probably see it for yerself.”

Toriel obligingly turned and squinted at his SOUL. “Good heavens,” she said after a moment, and looked up at him. “Sans, what in the world…?”

If it looked half as turbulent as it felt, then it was probably pretty scary. “I wasn’t kiddin’ the other night,” he muttered.

“I…didn’t think you were. Still…” She rubbed her eyes, swaying a little with sheer tiredness. “I did want to ask you something. I heard you telling the guards last night that you inspected the carts alongside someone you trusted. By any chance, was that…?”

Well, there was a convenient misunderstanding if he’d ever heard one. “Was that what? Someone I’m totally nuts about an’ hafta stay away from because she’s a human, and just friggin’ deal with it?” He rapped on his chest. “Does it look like I’m dealin’ with it?”

“No, you are not.” Toriel crossed her arms at the waist. “Sans. I know this must be difficult for you, but—”

“Let’s play pretend for a minute,” he said conversationally. “Imagine I came up to you sometime _real_ soon with a human an’ said, ‘Here ya go, meet the wife.’” Just saying the word made his SOUL ache further. “What would you do?”

Her eyes narrowed to golden slits. “It would depend,” Toriel said with deceptive calmness, “whether you would prefer I be kind, or truthful. Do you want my blessing to try and find happiness for a few short years, and to be even more alone in the world once she d—”

That did it. “Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake, Tori! Ya think I don’t know how screwed I am?” Sans snarled, and her mouth fell open. “I didn’t tell you about this so you could give me a kick in the goddamn teeth! I told ya ‘cause I wanted to talk with somebody who might have some idea what I’m goin’ through! If that’s too much to ask, just fuckin’ forget about it!”

“I am _sorry_ , Sans! I truly am!” There was a puff of smoke as Toriel threw her hands up. “If you _could_ marry a human, I would be the first to congratulate you! But as things are…” Her face contorted. “What does my opinion even matter? You know that I have no power here, no matter how many people keep calling me ‘Majesty’! I can do nothing to help you!”

“You could still be my goddamn _friend_! That’s all I wanted!” He kicked at nothing. “But no, yer so worried about botherin’ little ol’ Gorey that—”

_Whump._

Sans stared at the scorch mark at his feet, a smoking, blackened ring on the tiles. Then he looked at Toriel, whose hand was still aimed at the floor, her chest heaving as though she’d run the entire length of the Underground. “Do not. Talk to me. About. Asgore,” she said through gritted fangs. “That _wretched_ man has already cost me my entire family! Do you think I enjoy catering to his paranoia and living in fear that someone else I care for will be banished, or _die_? What do you think he would do if you were to wed a human? What would happen to you, and to her? If Asgore decided you were truly a threat—”

He could feel his eyes burning, and didn’t trust himself to say anything. Toriel gulped. “It is not _safe_ for you to marry a human, Sans. It is not safe for any human down here! You’ve seen it for yourself! Frisk is the only one he will even tolerate, and he could still…” Another shake of her head, ears flapping against her cheeks. “You know Asgore. All he has to do is ignore her until she leaves. It would be so easy _,_ wouldn’t it?” The goat-woman buried her face in her hands. “Those _damned_ men would just shrug and say that she failed in her mission, and I would never see her again! I _can’t_ lose anyone else, Sans! I can’t—”

The skeleton’s anger subsided as he watched the former Queen’s shoulders rise and fall. He took a couple of steps toward her, sliding his hands into his pockets. “What happened with Chara?” he asked quietly. “Why wouldn’t he let her come back?”

Toriel’s fingers curled, claws digging into her muzzle. “It wasn’t her fault,” she muttered, eyes hard and dry. “He said he didn’t blame her, but he still agreed to send her away. And when that _bastard_ human would not marry her as he promised, Chara needed us—she needed her family! But Asgore said she was _lying_ , and he sent her away again! I didn’t see my little girl for _ten years_ , Sans! And then—”

Sans stayed silent. Toriel let her arms fall, and slid down against the cabinet until she was slumped on the kitchen floor. “I got her back, and it was too late. She hated us both,” she said dully. “She died hating me, Sans. And she was _right_. I couldn’t protect her from Asgore, and when the accident happened, I could not protect her or Asriel. I was right there, and I could do _nothing_! All I did was send the humans away, and he even begrudged me that!” The goat monster gripped her robe, nearly puncturing the fabric. “Now my only friend comes to me for a sympathetic ear, and what do I do? I sneer at him for confiding in me and complain about _my_ troubles!” She scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve. “I’m completely useless, as always.”

“Don’t say that, Tori! Remember that one little thing where ya kept the humans from declarin’ war on us an’ sealing the whole damn Underground? Besides…” Sans shuddered as something else came to him. “For all we know, he woulda had Kris killed, too.” He crouched to her eye level. “You saved Frisk’s life, Tori. Are you sayin’ that wasn’t worth somethin’?”

She swallowed again. “I…I don’t—”

“An’ she grew up to be High Priestess, and she saved _my_ life when I got caught. If it wasn’t for you, she’d be dead, and I’d be dead or worse.” He shook his head. “If she was dead, we wouldn’t be gettin’ any food deliveries, or monsters comin’ home, or random bubble parties—” Despite himself, he chuckled. “Or fish puns—”

Toriel managed a smile. “That was fun, wasn’t it? Poor Papyrus.” She gave a long, deep sigh. “I may have saved her life, but as far as I am concerned, you are the reason she has come back to us. Thank you, Sans.” The goat monster got to her feet and wiped her eyes again on her sleeve. “I…I still don’t know what to tell you about your human. I haven’t even asked you her name, what she is like, how far your relationship has progressed—may I assume you intend to keep courting her?”

“Uh…” Sans ducked his head, scuffing his slipper over the burned floor tiles. “Tell you the truth, she’s kinda the one courtin’ _me_.”

“Sans!” the goat monster scolded him. “You’ve found a woman with enough magic, strength of mind, _and_ good taste to fall in love with you, and you’re letting her do all the work?”

The skeleton scratched his neck vertebrae. “…Yeah?”

Toriel gave him one of her squinty, pursed-mouth glares, and he held up his hands. “I know, I know! It’s just…there’s all this stuff, but it’s _her_ , an’ I never met a _her_ before, an’ I—”

“All right, all right.” Toriel sighed again. “I still wish you would change your mind, but I understand that it’s not so simple.” She couldn’t conceal a yawn. “We can talk more when I’ve had some rest. I promise.” To his surprise, she took his hand and gave it a good squeeze. “In the meantime, go and help the Royal Guards, and then apologize to Frisk. That was the most lovely gift imaginable, and you behaved as though she’d handed you a steaming pile of—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sans lifted one shoulder. “Okay, Ma, I promise I’ll be good. Go get some sleep.”

“Yes, dear. And, Sans—” She gave him a look he couldn’t interpret. “I hate to be intrusive, but…if everyone is gathered again this evening, could I please join you? If it’s all right with the others?”

Sans made a rude noise. “Of course I’ll come ‘n get you. We’re almost halfway through her of _fish_ al visit.”

Toriel laughed. “Well, _water_ you still doing here? Go on!”

He chucked, raising a hand. “‘Kay. See ya, Toriel.”

“Thank you, Sans.” She swatted at him playfully, letting him dodge out of the way. “Now, shoo!”


	18. Dreemurr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took forever because 1. I have been taking commissions, and 2. there is a LOT here. Warnings for arachnophobia, angst...and smut. :3

_For the eighth or ninth time, Frisk wished she had just said no. But she hadn’t, and she couldn’t back out now, so she kept walking, arms stiff at her sides._

_At least she was almost there: she could hear rustling in the dark up ahead, and faintly musical sounds, like someone twanging a piano wire. Suddenly, her heel stuck on something, her shoe nearly coming off; the next moment, something else tickled her cheek. When she tried to brush it away, it wouldn’t come off her fingers. In the dim light, it looked like…a spiderweb?_

_There was a high-pitched giggle overhead, and more webbing dropped onto her shoulders. The child was yanked off her feet, pulled straight up until she slammed to a teeth-rattling stop in midair. Heart pounding, head spinning, Frisk tried to tug herself loose, but it was no use: she was caught in the bouncy, gluey strands of…_

_…a really,_ really _big spiderweb. And where there was a really big spiderweb—_

_“Ahuhuhu~”_

_Frisk turned her head as far as she could, and uttered a raspy sound as her gaze met five huge, mirror-shiny black eyes. It was a spider monster in frilly bloomers, ribbons, and pigtails—surprisingly cute, except for its fangs. “My! Whatever do we have here?” The giant spider leaned in closer, and Frisk watched in fascination as her reflection flickered in time with the monster’s blinks. “What brings a bite-sized human like you to my parlor?”_

_The child couldn’t tear her eyes away from the spider monster’s eerie, fluid movements. It was balancing on the web, brushing crumbs off its sleeve, and dipping a pastry into a cup of tea it’d just poured for itself, all at once! “A-Are you Muffet?” she squeaked._

_The spider smirked, nibbling daintily on her pastry. “That’s me, dearie. Did someone send you to find me?” Her face creased into a scowl. “If that skeleton told you it would be funny to disturb us, I swear I’ll—”_

_Something chittered, and Frisk couldn’t help squirming. Muffet gasped as a tiny shape emerged from the child’s collar. “Alphonse? Oh my_ goodness _me! How did you get here?!”_

_Frisk shut her eyes tight as the little spider crawled the rest of the way out of her shirt, followed by another, and a few more, and then what seemed like a thousand others. She could feel a tickly procession streaming up her neck and along her arms onto the web, where they swarmed around Muffet, making rapid clicking sounds.  
_

_“They gave me a piece of paper asking for help,” the human explained, though the spiders were probably saying the same thing. “They were tired of the Ruins, but Snowdin is too cold, and it’s too expensive to get a heated carriage, so I gave some of them a ride to Hotland.”_

_All five of Muffet’s eyes sparkled, and she clasped two legs in pure joy. “Oh, what a sweet little morsel you are! You’ve saved us thousands of g, just like that!” Frisk heard more chittering, and found herself being eased free of the webbing and lowered gently until she was back on the sticky floor. “I’m so sorry if I frightened you, dearie—most humans have a nasty habit of squishing spiders, but I didn’t know how very kind you were toward us!”_

_“You’re welcome,” Frisk said, trying to pick the webbing out of her hair. The grownups had chopped almost all of it off before they left the castle; she’d hate for them to cut the webs out and make it look even worse. “My name is Kris. It’s nice to meet you.”_

_The spider-lady was ignoring her, listening to what sounded like dozens of little voices at once. She didn’t have eyebrows, but her upper three eyes wiggled in almost the same way. “Really, now?” She regarded Frisk with new interest. “You wouldn’t happen to be ten years old, would you, dearie?”_

_Where had that come from? None of the other monsters had asked her age. “Um…yes? I don’t know my real birthday, just the year.”_

_The spiders must have understood her, because the noise increased, and Muffet tittered louder than ever. “How interesting~”_

_“Why?” the child couldn’t help asking._

_“Ohhh, nothing, just a bit of gossip.” Muffet hopped onto a higher strand of webbing, crossing a pair of legs and pouring herself more tea. “Would you like something to eat?” She indicated a table with a pile of iced cakes and a sign reading_ 9,999 G _. “No charge, just for you.”_

_Was that a spider leg sticking out of the frosting? “I’m full, thank you,” Frisk lied._

_“Suit yourself, dearie.” For someone without any lips, the monster could slurp her tea quite loudly. “The spider clans don’t communicate with each other nearly as often as we should, but when someone manages to get here from the Ruins, they tell the most fascinating stories. Like the humans’ last visit here, eleven years ago—did you know that your King came with them? Supposedly, it was a group of minor nobles discussing repairs to the border fence, but no one notices spiders – except you, of course – and they hear all sorts of things behind closed doors~”_

_The child frowned. “The King was here?” She didn’t think he’d ever been to the Underground; she’d just been glad he hadn’t come on this trip, though she was sorry the Queen was sick. It would’ve been so nerve-wracking to have to behave around him!_

_“He certainly was.” Muffet licked a drop of tea from the fine hairs on her forelimb. “Yes, the King paid us a secret visit, and poor Chara was never the same afterwards. There was quite a commotion, you know, after he’d been gone a little while. They had to take her all the way to the Ruins so no one would hear her s—”_

_There was a familiar chuckle behind Frisk. “ahh, muffet. putting the_ spy _in ‘spider,’ huh?” Sans held out his hand, and Frisk gladly took it. “yeah, i dunno what she’s talking about, either. c’mon, kiddo, you shouldn’t be here. time to have a_ ferry _good ride back.”_

_“On the contrary,” Muffet said haughtily, “this wonderful child is welcome in my parlor any time. I would love to have her over for lunch!” Two sets of arms clapped their hands. “Go on home, dearie. Come and see me again sometime soon.”_

_“man. you got a knack for making friends, ya know that?” Sans remarked as they stepped around the webs lining the floor. “i didn’t think she liked anyone who wasn’t rich, or fattening.”_

_Frisk didn’t answer. The corridor had just enough bare, echoing surfaces for her to hear the last of Muffet’s conversation. “Not a word to anyone,” the spider was telling her family, or minions, or whatever they were. “I—what? …Why, yes, he would pay for that information. What a splendid idea! We could even give him a discount! Those glasses are so cute~”_

_Frisk and Sans looked at each other, shrugged, and moved along to thinking up spider puns to unleash on Pap. It didn’t occur to Frisk until much later that Muffet had said “her”—the smaller ones hadn’t gotten_ that _far under her clothes, had they?_

_Ah, well. She figured spiders must not know much about human pronouns, and they probably said strange, random things to everyone. It was nothing to worry about._

Many years later, Frisk would remember that and wish she could smack her younger self upside the head. Not only was it racist, it was _very_ incorrect, not to mention ungrateful. Spiders knew damn well what pronouns were, and nothing Muffet had said to her was random. She hadn’t even charged her for it…

~

The hotel attached to Mettaton’s resort was unbelievably crowded that evening, the air warm and full of amazing smells. Sans had materialized by the fountain in the lobby, figuring it was long enough after dinnertime that there wouldn’t be too many people around. This turned out to be hilariously wrong: the line was still two or three deep at the food counter, the queue winding up and down the room and ending nearly out the doors. There wasn’t enough space for one boss monster to just appear out of nowhere, much less two, but here they were.

“My. Do you think they’ve gotten a room?” Toriel asked dubiously, releasing his arm and nodding to the monsters scrambling out of their way. “Should we check with the front desk?”

Sans glanced around, then relaxed and let his SOUL point him in a direction, like giving a hunting dog a scent to follow. Sure enough, his feet started toward the restaurant on the left side of the resort. “This way,” he grunted.

Luckily, at their size, they didn’t have much trouble getting through the crowd. Nor did they have to say anything to the restaurant’s maître d’: he took one look, bowed so deeply that he almost fell over, and walked ahead of them to harass the seated monsters out of their way.

They soon reached the far end of the room, where Frisk was holding court at a small table with Alphys, Undyne, Mettaton, and a few others. To Sans’ delight, she had perched on the back of a heavy chair, confidently projecting her voice over the other diners. “So I finished the introduction, she came out onstage, and what did she do? She froze right there in front of everyone,” the human said, gesturing with her champagne glass.

This got quite a reaction. “Oh, please,” Mettaton said with a groan.

“Ha!” Undyne thumped the table. “Served her right! What’d you do?”

“I peeked out from behind the curtain, and I looked at her, and I went—” Frisk closed one eye and opened the other as wide as possible, flashing a demented smile, and the monsters cracked up. “She almost started laughing, and it was perfect, because that was where the Queen was bragging about how much everyone loved her!”

“Good evening, everyone,” said Toriel, walking ahead of Sans to join the others. “Forgive me, but, what was this?”

Cries of welcome rang out. “Good evening, Lady Toriel! I was telling them about my friend Mathilda,” explained Frisk.

Standing on the periphery, Sans drank in the sight of his human seated among the monsters, looking adorably tiny by comparison, but completely at home. She was more animated than he’d ever seen her at the castle, her eyes bright and hands in constant motion as she talked. It was everything they’d both hoped for when they came here.

And speaking of drinks, he also had to note all the open bottles of wine and other adult beverages around the table. He remembered ordering several crates of them, but he’d assumed they would be consumed at a slower rate than this; monsters couldn’t handle alcohol as well as most humans. Come to think of it, neither could Frisk.

Mettaton had gotten up to greet Toriel, and was bowing her into his seat; Sans was impressed with his manners until the automaton turned and shooed Alphys out of her chair so he could take it.

Justice came swiftly: Undyne waited for Mettaton to get comfortable, then kicked him under the table hard enough to make a metallic clang. “Never mind him. Here,” she said to Alphys, holding her arm out and patting her lap.

Toriel cleared her throat, and the scientist turned about five shades of reddish-orange. Practical as ever, Undyne got up to grab a chair from another table instead, ignoring its irate former occupant and cramming it between her seat and Frisk’s. 

When Alphys was happily settled, Toriel gave the automaton and the Royal Guard Captain reproachful glances. “Your friend Mathilda?” she prompted.

Frisk smiled. “Yes, from St. Brigid’s. She wanted me to narrate the part of the spring pageant where she was playing the Queen—have you heard of _The Sun Cycle_?”

Toriel accepted a glass of red wine from the waiter. “The allegory about the two sisters? Of course. Did Mathilda have a case of stage fright?”

“Right after she spent ten minutes straight telling me not to be shy.” Frisk made another face. “I teased her about that for years.”

Toriel chuckled. “And rightfully so.”

Sans was busy staring at Frisk when she suddenly looked straight at him. “Sans?” He jumped, then scowled self-consciously as she shifted her weight. “I hate to make you stand there—is there anywhere he can sit?” she asked the group.

There was a general murmur and scooting-out to make room, but Sans waved his hand. “Nah, don’t worry about it. ‘s what I get fer bein’ late to the party,” he muttered.

The priestess frowned a little. “Well, if you’re sure…” She indicated a green jug on the table. “You wanted to try some hard cider, didn’t you? Now’s your chance.”

“’m fine,” he said gruffly, and she gave him a short nod before Mettaton reclaimed her attention with a question about human seating etiquette.

Sans wanted to smack himself on the cranium. Typical Frisk: she was mad at him, but still didn’t want him be to left out. Well, neither did he! It physically hurt to keep himself from going over and petting her hair, tucking that one bit behind her ear, asking how she was feeling…

Yeah, this whole staying-apart thing wasn’t fucking working. If he couldn’t have some time alone with her soon, he was going to throw her over his shoulder and teleport them both far, far away, which would probably look a little suspicious. What would it take to—

Alphys coughed. “S-So did the rest of the pageant go all right?”

Frisk sipped her champagne. “Oh, yes. I’ve always loved that story, and I didn’t have to be onstage, so I—” She paused and held the empty glass out, and another waiter swooped in to refill it. “Thank you.” Sip. “It was wonderful. We had a five-piece orchestra playing along, and the Queen’s song, ‘Daylight’s Lament,’ actually brought people to tears.”

Sans wasn’t thinking very straight, or else he would known better than to say, “Is that the mopey thing you’re always singin’?”

Everyone turned toward him, and he shrank back at the priestess’ expression. “Are you a musician, Frisk?” Toriel asked around her refilled wineglass.

“Yes, I was in the choir at school,” the human said, giving Sans a significant look. “ _The Sun Cycle_ had just been adapted into a musical, and we all nagged our teachers until they let us perform it.” She grinned ruefully. “It was the best political training I’ve ever had. If you want to delve into the darkest side of human nature, just tell a group of teenage girls that only one of them gets to play the Queen.”

They all laughed, though no one disagreed.

“And Mathilda got it?” Sans asked, just to contribute.

“Yes, she did,” Frisk replied. Her feet swung back and forth a few times, drawing his attention again. “She tends to get what she wants.”

Trying to distract himself, Sans remembered something and asked, “Isn’t she the one who’s gonna replace you?” They looked at him in surprise, and he added, “Y’know, if you ever decide ta quit?”

That earned him another glare. “Yes, _if_ I ever do. The only reason I became High Priestess and not her was that my magic was stronger. Otherwise, she’d have been perfect.”

“Now, now. I would think—no, I _know_ that you’re doing an excellent job,” Toriel said warmly, and the priestess ducked her head.

“Wait a sec.” Undyne banged her mug on the table, startling Alphys. “Didn’t you say somebody tried to kill you ‘cause you’re the High Priestess? Aren’t you worried someone’ll come after her, too?”

“Well…not really.” Frisk made a complicated gesture. “It may sound cold, but you’ve never met Mathilda. She doesn’t have _time_ to be assassinated. If the Church didn’t pay for a half-dozen guards everywhere she went, she’d just hire them herself and go about her day.”

“Nice,” said Undyne, but despite Frisk’s light tone, Sans wasn’t so sure about the way she was frowning into her champagne glass. Did she feel guilty for being so cavalier about her friend’s safety?

…No, that wasn’t it. He had a sudden attack of insight: Frisk wasn’t only in danger because she was the High Priestess; she was also in the way of people who profited off monsters. Did Mathilda have different views on the subject – maybe more safe or conventional ones – that would keep her from being targeted? What about the person who had paid to keep Frisk safe? He still had to tell her about that, too, assuming he ever got the fucking chance!

That was enough of that topic. What else could they talk about? “How’d it go in the lab today, Al?” he asked.

This time, they all looked at him as though he’d thrown dog turds onto the table, and a couple of the other monsters actually got up and left. His stupid, tired, frustrated mind took a second to catch up: everyone knew that Alphys had been testing Frisk’s magic, and as much as they liked and hopefully trusted the human by now, they didn’t want to hear about her barriers.

“Um…” Alphys fidgeted with her mug of spiced cider. “You were r-right. I couldn’t even quantify how much f-force she could potentially withstand. It’s honestly still hard to believe.”

“Yeah, it turns out she’s even better than we thought,” Undyne said defiantly, and raised her mug. “Toast: to Frisk being on our side!”

Frisk raised her glass in reply, downing the rest of the champagne in one gulp, and everyone with a drink quickly followed suit. As the waiter came back for more refills, Sans nodded his thanks to Undyne; she stared at him, then drew her thumb across her throat to indicate that he was _dead_. He shrugged, agreeing that that was fair.

Alphys fidgeted again. “Actually, Sans, I’d like to t-talk to you about that sometime soon. Alone, m-maybe?”

The skeleton blinked. “Uh…okay.” Now that a few chairs were empty across from Frisk, he walked over to shove them aside and sit down on the floor, putting his eye level only a foot or two below the others. Why would Alphys need to talk to him alone? If she wanted more data, why not include Frisk? He’d have to find out later.

Undyne scowled, half-turning to drape her arm over Alphys’ shoulders; the lizard monster turned a few more colors, then leaned into her. Good for them, thought Sans, with only a twinge of jealousy. “I remember when I was a kid and I used to snoop around in my parents’ room,” Undyne continued. “My mom got fed up and told me there was a human hiding in her closet. Not only did I stop sneaking in there, I’d run past their door to get to my room!”

Sans forced himself to join in the laughter. “Poor Pap,” he remarked. “When he was a kid, I got him that pirate bed, and he wouldn’t stop jumpin’ on it in the middle of the night. I didn’t wanna take it away, so I said there was a human under it ‘n Pap was gonna wake him up.”

“Sans,” Frisk scolded him, but she was smiling now.

“It’s true,” he said gleefully. “The next night, I found him makin’ a decoy to throw into bed so he could go hide in the closet.”

Undyne guffawed, and Toriel shook her head, though she was also smiling. “That poor child! Tell me he isn’t still sleeping in the closet, Sans!”

“He’s not. I made a big deal about talkin’ with the librarian and finding out humans are scared of books about Fluffy Bunny. We read one every night from then on, and whaddya know? The human never got ‘im,” the skeleton said proudly.

They laughed again, and the last of the tension dissipated. “Speakin’ of Papyrus, where is he?” Sans asked, feeling guilty for not noticing sooner. “Hope I didn’t miss ‘im on his way home.”

Mettaton couldn’t drink, so he had spent most of the conversation checking his face paint; he sighed theatrically, putting the mirror away in his chest compartment. “He got drunk already, the poor dear. I sent him upstairs to sleep it off.”

Sans didn’t have to fake a grin. “Makes sense. It only takes half a mudslide to get him started tellin’ everyone how bad my jokes are, and tellin’ the jokes ta prove it, and then gettin’ mad that he knows all my jokes by heart.”

“A ‘mudslide’?” Frisk repeated.

“Yep. ’s one of Grillby’s finest cocktails: magic ‘n mud.”

The human looked puzzled. “By ‘mud,’ you mean…?”

“Wet dirt,” Sans clarified.

“…You…drink…?” Frisk couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. “What does that even taste like?”

Pause. “Mud.”

More laughter. Frisk’s nose was wrinkled, but she was still smiling; that was enough for Sans.

He didn’t want to ruin the mood by saying something else stupid, so he nodded to her and turned to survey the now-half-empty room. It must have been pretty late, because the maître d’ wasn’t letting anyone else in. The nearest table had just one person, and—

 _It_ was sitting there, out of nowhere, legs dangling over the side of the table. The demon-child locked eyes with Sans, hands resting on the knife in its lap, and it grinned.

Sans stared back at it, paralyzed. Through the fog of shock and terror, there arose a single thought: _Are you fucking serious?! I don’t need this right now!_

The thing shook its head. It looked meaningfully at their table – at Frisk – and back at him. It raised the kitchen knife, pointing at the side of its own head, and made a circling motion.

Sans managed to twitch with sheer rage as he recognized that childish gesture. The little bastard had come all the way here to tell him Frisk was crazy?

Its grin faded into a faint, superior smile. It lowered the knife and tapped on its sternum three times. Then it shifted around to face the human; to Sans’ bewilderment, it sat cross-legged and leaned forward on its elbows, ruby eyes glued to Frisk, as if waiting for a play to begin.

What was it doing? … _Why_ was it doing? He had the feeling that it genuinely wasn’t interested in him for the moment. What did it think Frisk was going to—

“Sans?” Her voice snapped him out of it; the skeleton found he could move again. “What’s the matter?”

“Uh…” He looked at her, then back at the demon. It was gone now, of course. “Nothin’.” He glanced back and forth a couple of times just to be sure. What the hell was that about? The thing wanted to tell him that Frisk was nuts and Sans should check her SOUL? But…

Sans shook himself, turning to size up the room. Everyone was slightly to moderately tipsy, but relaxed, probably ready to call it a night soon. There was absolutely no sign of danger anywhere; even if there was, Sans couldn’t imagine a threat too big for him, Toriel, Undyne, _and_ Frisk.

To hell with that thing. He wasn’t going to ogle her SOUL for no reason in front of everyone; somebody would notice and give him crap for it, she’d get embarrassed, and he’d have yet another thing to make up to her.

Toriel took a bottle of wine directly from a passing waiter and poured herself another glass. “Where are you staying tonight, my child?”

The human brushed her hair behind her ear. Sans glanced at her, and his spine stiffened: she was looking right at him, her finger tracing the edge of her choker. “My things are still at Sans and Papyrus’ house, so I was planning to stay in Snowdin tonight at the inn.”

The skeleton tried to hide his sudden jubilation. She was telling him she’d have her own room, which meant some damn privacy at last! He’d have a chance to tell her things and apologize for being stupid about the chessboard, and then…choker, and—

“Whaaat? You have an entire new wardrobe upstairs, and you want to go all the way back to that smelly wasteland?” Mettaton complained. Sans gritted his teeth as the automaton reached over to play with Frisk’s hair, sweeping it up with one gloved hand. “You know, darling, if you’d let me put this up for you, it wouldn’t keep getting in your way. Why don’t you stay here another night so we can figure it out?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” Frisk said tartly, pushing his arm away.

Mettaton pouted. “But what about—”

“She said no, dipshit,” Sans snarled. “Not everyone has time to play dress-up.”

“Oh?” drawled the automaton. He sized up the giant skeleton and flashed a literally pearly-white smile. “I see. Well, if she absolutely must stop in at your hovel, be sure she has everything she needs. You know, her clothes, a few midnight snacks…plenty of socks?”

Undyne and Alphys nearly spat their drinks across the table. Sans twitched as though he’d been poked in the SOUL—which, in a way, he had. “Ya wanna die, ya friggin’ piece of—”

“Be nice, children,” Toriel mumbled. She covered her mouth for a massive yawn, nearly dropping her wineglass. “Speaking of wardrobes, Frisk, I had enough time after my nap this afternoon to go through Chara’s old clothes. I found several things that should fit you. Why don’t you stay over another night so we can try them on?”

The human’s face was still red. “No, thank you, Lady Toriel,” Frisk said over the faintest murmur of _“Socks”_ and barely-suppressed snickering.

The former Queen sighed, too far gone in memory – and alcohol – to notice. “It would be so cute to see you in those dresses,” she murmured. “We can hem them up if we need to. You’re about the same size she was at…goodness, fourteen or fifteen!”

“Yes, childhood malnutrition will do that.” Frisk accepted yet another refill from yet another waiter. “My mother took _no_ care of me.”

“You poor thing.” Toriel shook her head. “How I wish you could have stayed and grown up here! We would never have neglected you like that.”

Undyne sighed, propping her head on one fist. “Yeah, that would’ve been amazing.”

Mettaton also sighed, lacing his fingers together and resting his head on them. “For once, darling, we agree. She should know at least five times as many dances as I’ve taught her.”

Toriel hiccuped. Sans had always heard that drunk people did that, but never seen it for himself. “And she could’ve sang for us, too. My poor little angel—such a wonderful child!”

Frisk smiled, until Toriel went on, “Yes, I’ll always miss Chara. Did you ever get to meet her, Frisk?”

No answer. Sans’ backbone prickled; he checked the other table, but the demon wasn’t there. He glanced at Frisk, and to his alarm, she was almost literally vibrating with tension.

Alphys was also squinting at the human, as if checking her. Whatever she saw made her eyes go wide, and she signaled frantically at Sans. “So, Frisk,” he said, too loud.

She looked up, startled. “Uh,” he said. Crap. Now he had everyone’s attention, and he had to say more words. This time, though, he made himself think first, settling on a topic so safe and dull that nothing bad could possibly come of it. “I just remembered—when I was passin’ stuff out with the Royal Guard earlier, we found a couple small discrepancies in the list,” he said casually. “I made some notes about it. Can you and Tori take a look real quick?”

“Of course. I’m sure it’s fine, though,” Frisk said, giving him another smile. Then, as he started to reach into his coat for the invoices…

It was the tiniest movement, and he just barely caught it. She took too large a drink and slopped champagne onto the corner of her mouth, which she chose to lick off slowly, eyes on his.

Sans would think of that moment and berate himself for years afterward. For one thing, he didn’t know or care how openly he was staring at her, or who was watching; more importantly, his hand kept moving while the rest of his mind did a belly-flop into a mire of absolute lust, all his resources suddenly diverted to socks and lace chokers and that cute little mouth…desperation to run his hands all over her again and find out if she still had that weird blood thing going, what her exact criteria were for it being the right time to—

Left to manage on its own, his hand knew only that it was supposed to get something for her out of his pocket. It encountered the papery thing he needed, and then another thing it knew was for her, and dutifully pulled both things out. He didn’t have enough concentration to use magic and send the invoices directly to her, so he tossed them onto the table with a solid _thmp_. “Pass that t’ Frisk, wouldja?” his mouth said.

A couple shreds of conscious thought worked themselves free, wondering why the papers had gone _thmp_. Paper wasn’t supposed to go _thmp_. What had he…

Oh. It was the heavy golden envelope, the one with the King’s letter for her.

On the table.

…With her full name on the front.

Right by Undyne, who was reaching to pick it up, just like he’d asked.

Time slowed to a crawl. Icy dread swept over him, and he raised his hand, knowing it was too late—Undyne had handed over the invoices and was already saying, “Heyyy, what’s this, boss?” Before he could stand up or regroup his magic, the Royal Guard Captain flipped the envelope around to read the calligraphy. “Fancy! Is it a love letter for—”

She stopped. Sans’ SOUL shrank to nothing as the fish monster’s brows drew together. “Hey. Your Majesty?” she asked, raising her voice.

Toriel finished her drink, trying to set her glass down and missing the table entirely. “Yes, Captain?”

Undyne gave a puzzled half-smile. “Did you adopt Frisk or something?”

Frisk looked up from the invoices. The goat monster glanced at her, then chuckled. “Why, no, not that I’m aware of.” Toriel was smiling, too, clearly waiting for a punchline.

Sans grabbed the envelope with a burst of red magic and shoved it into his pocket. “Hey, Frisk! Guess what? Time ta go!”

Frisk started, and had to catch herself before she fell off the chair. “What? Why do—”

“Then how come she has your last name?” asked Undyne.

Silence. Toriel and Undyne were awkwardly smiling, each waiting for the other to speak and growing more confused as the seconds ticked by.

Alphys frowned, then peered at Frisk, who was staring at the panicky skeleton. “Sans,” the human said softly. “What is she talking about?”

Sans was still sitting on the floor, and couldn’t get up; he felt sick as Frisk stepped down from her perch and came over to him. “What do you have there?” she asked, even softer.

His hand moved on its own again to pull out the envelope. “’s a letter,” he mumbled. “I was gonna give this to ya later, when we talked about—”

Frisk snatched the envelope and turned it over. He forced his sockets to stay open as her face went pale, then stark white. Slowly, her head lifted until their eyes met. “I didn’t mean ta get it out yet,” he said helplessly. “It was an accident. I’m—”

“Where did you get this?” she asked carefully. “ _When_ did you get this?”

“Yesterday. From…from Dr. Serif. He met me in the village to help get all the stuff ready, and the King gave it to ‘im ‘cause he thought you’d be—”

“This is from my father?” Frisk stared at the dark-gold calligraphy, then at him. Sans just stared back, letting his silence speak for itself.

Alphys squinted one more time at Frisk’s chest. Then she bolted from her seat, skittered around the table to Mettaton, and latched onto his arm. “You need to get everyone out of here! Right now!” she hissed.

The automaton quirked a lacquered eyebrow at her. “Are you joking? This is the most—”

“I said _now_!”

Toriel and Undyne watched Mettaton scramble out of his chair, leap straight into the middle of the room, and strike a pose. “Hello, beauties!” he called to the remaining twenty or so diners, giving Alphys a nervous glance. “This is your lucky night! We’re going to have a scavenger hunt, and the prize is _me_ —one candlelit dinner with yours truly! Follow me to Paradise!”

Alphys breathed a sigh of relief as the monsters trooped out, dragging the waiters and the protesting maître d’ with them, and the doors slammed shut. The royal scientist gestured to Toriel, then Undyne, who had come around to their side of the table. “We should leave, too,” Alphys said urgently.

“What?” The goat monster frowned at her, and at Frisk, whose shoulders had hunched. “Are you all right, my chi—”

“Yes!” They jumped as Frisk whipped around, clutching the envelope to her breast, giving them a dreadful smile. “Yes. Yes, I…I’m fine. I just need to—” She gulped. “Never mind. I have to talk to Sans.” She held her hand out. “Let’s go.” He didn’t move, and she said desperately, “Now? Please?”

A tiny quiver of fear ran through him, and not just because he, personally, was in an absolute world of shit. He could feel the air around Frisk grow heavier, and for the first time in a long time, his instincts were urging him to back away. Her magic was building rapidly, as if she was getting a barrier ready, but she wasn’t doing it on purpose. What did she—

Oh, crap. Not only were they Underground, where magic was naturally stronger than above, she was already at least a little drunk, and tired, and…well, “upset” would not _begin_ to cover the fallout of his slip-up. Was Alphys worried something would happen? But…

Just to be sure, Sans took a long look at Frisk’s SOUL. For a second, he thought something was wrong with his vision, or he was just out of practice; then he realized that, for once, he was not the problem.

Her SOUL was a goddamn mess. It shone as bright and beautifully red as when he’d first seen it, but where it had been rock-solid with determination, it now looked more like a snowglobe that kept getting shaken up before the glitter had a chance to settle. Magic was seeping through her skin and beginning to tint the air around her, and if she was aware of it, she wasn’t even trying to control it.

Fuck. Alphys had been smart enough to keep an eye on Frisk’s SOUL when she started getting agitated about Chara—had the scientist noticed some instability when she was testing the human’s magic? Either way, she’d been scared enough to have Mettaton clear the room.

But it wasn’t as if the monsters should be afraid of Frisk, was it? Sure, she seemed pretty volatile right now, but she was still Frisk! She would never hurt anyone!

At least, not on purpose…

Sans couldn’t help glancing at the other table. Sure enough, the demon-child was back, grinning and clapping its hands in sheer delight. _“Told you so,”_ it said gaily.

Undyne coughed. “Uh…Frisk? Why’d your dad call you that?”

Frisk gestured one more time, and Sans made himself look at her hand with a grim, apologetic shake of his head. His SOUL wanted to tear loose and go hide at the way her face contorted. “You’ve gotta calm down, kid,” he said quietly. He didn’t know how to explain in front of everyone that her magic was too thick for him to teleport her anywhere without touching her, and doing so right now would singe him down to the bone—probably straight through it. “Please,” he added.

The priestess let her hand drop. She closed her eyes in resignation, pinching the bridge of her nose. “He called me that because I’m illegitimate, and I have to use my mother’s name.”

Pause. Sans shuffled back a little as Frisk’s eyes opened again, taking in the monsters’ blank faces. “Oh, for God’s sake! Do I need to spell it out for you?” She brandished the envelope at them: FRISK DREEMURR. “That was Chara’s last name, and she was my mother!”

The world stopped for a moment. Sans watched Toriel, breathless, painfully aware that her reaction was the one that really mattered. If she took Frisk seriously, then the priestess could probably recover her equilibrium and work through some of her feelings. If she didn’t—

Toriel was frowning in bewilderment. Then…she started to smile, and Sans’ SOUL shrieked in panic: _Nonono, don’t do it, don’t—_

The former Queen gave a polite little laugh. “I’m…sorry, my child, but…there must be some mistake.”

The air crackled, not loud enough yet for the others to hear. Frisk gripped the letter harder, still holding it at arm’s length. “Why do you say that?” she asked, too calm.

“Well…” Oh, crap. Now Undyne was smiling, too, only stopping when Alphys yanked on her sleeve. “Sorry,” the Captain said, “but c’mon. Chara never even had any kids!”

“Yeah, she did,” said Sans, and the women looked at him in astonishment. Frisk’s arm fell to her side as he continued, “The humans who visited ‘bout twenty-four years ago had their King with ‘em, and he knocked her up. She hid it till the last second, ‘n then she gave birth in the Ruins so no one would see anything.” He glanced at Toriel. “Right?”

It was hard to say who was the most shocked. “I thought Chara had me after she left the Underground! You mean I was born here?” demanded Frisk.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” barked Undyne. She looked at Toriel, whose eyes were huge, hands pressed to her mouth. “I-I mean—” The fish monster turned to Alphys. “Don’t humans get really big and weird when they’re pregnant? Wouldn’t we have noticed something?”

“Not n-necessarily,” Alphys said, fiddling with her claws faster than ever. “It depends on the individual, and how the baby d-develops. Besides, it’s not as if we had other humans to compare her with. She could’ve just w-worn thick clothes and stayed out of sight.”

“Huh.” Undyne stared at the floor. “Now that you mention it, she did spend a few months cooped up in the house before she left. But—”

“Where did you hear this, Sans?” None of them had ever heard Toriel sound like that, her gentle voice lowered to an almost bestial snarl. _“Who told you?”_

Sans grimaced. “You guys cleared everyone out of the Ruins, but you didn’t get all the spiders. They saw what happened, an’ they heard her tell you who the dad was.”

Toriel’s mouth fell open. “Spiders?”

“Yep. Some of ‘em made it over to Hotland while Kris was here, and they told Muffet, an’ she wound up sellin’ the story to Grillby. I don’t think he ever told anyone else. He just likes knowin’ stuff.” The skeleton scratched the back of his skull. “When I asked him ‘bout Chara the other day, he told me everything. I just never got a friggin’ chance to talk to Frisk about it.”

Another long pause. Was it his imagination, or was the air getting hotter? The priestess was only a few feet away, and though he didn’t have the courage to look at her again, that side of his body was tingling _very_ unpleasantly.

Toriel’s face had hardened, her arms folded at the waist. “Be that as it may, it proves absolutely no connection between her and Chara.”

God damn it. “No, they didn’t know for a fact that Frisk was her kid. But her age matched up, and a bunch of the spiders who rode with her were right next to her SOUL for a few hours. They said she had a buttload of magic, and it smelled like the Underground—way more than any human’s should.”

“It would explain how she’s so powerful,” mused Alphys. “With the capability to use magic from her f-father’s side, and being c-conceived and gestated here, she probably started accruing it before she was even born. She’s already proven that she can convert a monster’s power for herself, so…”

“Holy shit,” whispered Undyne. “So Chara really did have a kid?”

“Yes, she did,” the former Queen said tightly. “We just thought she was ill and shutting herself away for a while. She didn’t tell us how Stephin had betrayed our hospitality until she was nearly in labor, and she begged us not to tell any of the other monsters.” Toriel was gripping her own sleeves hard enough to puncture the fabric. “We gave her two months to recover, and then Asgore sent them both to Stephin. The baby wasn’t very strong, but Asgore was afraid that if we kept her here, Stephin would think we were holding his child hostage.”

No one answered, and Toriel swallowed hard. “A few weeks later, Chara returned to us in _agony_. Stephin had just become engaged to another woman, and he refused to break it off. The baby had become sick after leaving the Underground, and when Chara started preparing for the journey back here, she…the child didn’t make it home.” The former Queen wiped her eyes with the side of her hand. “I am sorry, Frisk, but there is no way you could be—”

“Yes, there is,” Frisk said, sounding oddly detached. “Chara lied to you. I didn’t die—she left me with a wet nurse and paid her to be my foster mother.”

Sans wanted to dive out of the way as Toriel took a step toward the human, Undyne and Alphys also shrinking back. “You mean to tell me,” the goat monster said, deathly quiet, “that my daughter knowingly abandoned her child and deceived her family?”

“Yes. She did.” Frisk was standing firm, but the monsters could see the haze coming off her like a golden mist; Sans traded looks with Undyne, who pulled Alphys closer. “If you really think it’s impossible for me to be Chara’s daughter, why did you ask my exact age?” the human demanded. “Why did you want to know how old I was when I first visited, and why did Asgore ask Sans the very same thing? You knew Chara had had a baby girl ten years before the delegation arrived, and then you found out Kris was a girl. Were you wondering if I was actually—”

“No!” They flinched at Toriel’s sheer vehemence. She gritted her teeth, trying to control her temper. “It was all Asgore’s fault. When Chara returned to us, he had the temerity to accuse her of lying about her child’s death. He told her she was not welcome unless she brought the baby back with her! Of _course_ we didn’t see her again for ten years!” Smoke drifted from between her fingers as she wiped her eyes again. “I still don’t know how he could have done something so cruel, or how he told you about it, but my only regret is that I ever considered the possibility for a single second! I know you are both wrong!”

Frisk’s eyes narrowed, and Sans jumped as a golden spark flew in his direction. He quashed the reflex to teleport to safety and stood up, only for Frisk to look around him, as though he wasn’t there. “I haven’t spoken to Asgore since I was a child. He has nothing to do with this conversation,” she snapped. “Do you know who first told me Chara was my mother?”

Toriel tried to give her a tolerant smile. “No, child. Who first told you?”

“Asriel.” Before the goat monster could react, Frisk pressed on, “He put the pieces together after he saw me make a barrier by accident. He knew that that ability ran in the royal family, and the King had fathered Chara’s child, so he asked her if it could be me. Chara got him to bring me to her, and he told me who I really was.” The envelope trembled in her hands. “He told me I’d come home.”

Toriel’s eyes widened again. She started to speak, but Frisk raised her voice: “Chara said my nurse had told her I’d died, and she apologized to me for how she acted whenever she visited the orphanage or the castle kitchens.” The human’s face had the hard, bitter expression Sans recognized from the time she’d caught him trying to escape. “She was so sweet to all the other children, and then she looked at me like I was some kind of diseased _rat!_ She said it was because I reminded her of her little girl and it made her sad, and she didn’t know it was actually me!”

“There!” Toriel exclaimed. “You see? The nurse wanted to hide the King’s child for her own gain, and—”

“Chara knew who I was all along!” bellowed Frisk, and it was the goat monster’s turn to step back. “She knew _damn_ well that I was alive! Why else would she pay my foster mother a hundred dinar every month for ten years? How did she know to check in on me every so often to see if I still existed? Why’d she leave me to be beaten and starved half to death while she kept the _thousands_ my father gave her to support us both and did whatever she liked?!”

“How _dare_ you say that? My child would never have—”

“She would, and she did! I’m sorry, Toriel, but she lied to everyone, especially you! Chara abandoned me until I was useful for something besides money, and she tore your family apart to punish Asgore for being right about her!”

“ENOUGH!” roared Toriel. She made a violent gesture, flame sizzling through the air. “I will not hear any more of this! Do you understand, High Priestess?! Whatever you may think happened, I know my daughter, and I know what she was and was not capable of! If you’re going to insist on slandering her any further, perhaps it would be better for you to l—”

The echoes died. The fury in Toriel’s gaze was gone, a hand coming back to her mouth.

“Better for me to what, Lady Toriel?” Frisk asked, so gently that Sans cringed. “Should—” Her throat worked. “Should I leave the Underground? Are you going to send me away again?”

Toriel didn’t have the chance to reply. A barrier _screamed_ to life overhead, and constricted until it formed a dome around them only about twenty feet across and fifteen feet high. “All right. I understand,” said Frisk.

Undyne reacted first, pushing Alphys to the floor and stuffing her under the table. “Frisk!” snapped the fish monster. “Calm down, okay? She didn’t mean it!”

“She didn’t mean to say I was lying?” Frisk inquired, her voice suddenly rising to a shriek: “She didn’t mean to tell me to _get out?_ ”

“Frisk!” Sans tried to grab her shoulder, only for a flare of gold to warn him away. “C’mon, sweetheart! Ya gotta stop it! We can talk about this!”

“We just did, Sans!” He had seen her in pain before, but it was nothing compared to the wild-eyed stare she turned on him now. “We talked about it because you couldn’t wait to show everyone who I was! Thank you _so_ much for helping me have this difficult conversation! We’ve finally answered the question of whether someone else I love is going to call me a liar!”

Sans’ SOUL already hurt so much that it took a moment to remember what she—oh, God. She meant when she’d told him she was Kris, and he’d scoffed at her until she stripped down to prove it. Now she’d been forced to reveal her identity to Toriel in the least natural way possible, and _she_ didn’t believe her, either. “Frisk—”

She was smiling, but in a very unhinged way. “No, I should really be thanking you. Life is so much simpler now! I don’t have to waste any more time and energy wondering if I should feel worthless, because the closest person to a real mother I’ve ever had just _told_ me so!”

Sans couldn’t answer: he had to fling himself backward before a cascade of sparks hit him in the face. Frisk drifted away a few steps and sank to her knees, hands still clenched on the envelope in her lap. “It’s fine,” she mumbled at the floor. “Food, presents, bubbles—I already gave you everything I have. If you don’t want me anymore, then…”

Toriel was rooted to the spot, chest heaving. The barrier sank lower, nearly grazing her horns, and Undyne rushed to sling her under the table as more sparks flew. “Sans!” the Captain shouted over the crackle and hiss of human magic.

The skeleton glared down at Toriel, and shook his head as she tried to speak. Frisk was too far gone—anything else the goat monster said would just aggravate her further, assuming she could even hear it.

Meanwhile, the dome was slowly closing in on them, and they couldn’t do a damn thing about it. If he tried to touch Frisk now, she’d just shove more magic at him; not only would that hurt like hell, it’d trap them all between two layers of barrier. He yelled her name again, but she didn’t move.

Shit! Why hadn’t Alphys warned him sooner? Why hadn’t Undyne kept her goddamn mouth shut about the letter? And if Toriel couldn’t accept right away that everything she knew was wrong and Chara was even worse than Sans had imagined, couldn’t she have found a way to deny it without completely destroying Frisk?!

Why hadn’t he—

No, all that mattered right now was getting through to her. The light surrounded them in blinding golden pulses, the barrier crackling like…

Humming. The barrier was making a hell of a lot of noise, and it…didn’t sound like her humming at all. Why was he thinking of that now?

…Because the last time his magic had been out of control, in his prison cell, she’d calmed him down by humming. But he hadn’t even heard her at first; he’d only snapped out of it when she touched his blaster – the physical embodiment of his magic – with her bare hand. He never did explain to her what a no-no that was…

Sans looked at his hand. He looked at his priestess, curled in on herself, lost in misery. The golden dome was so close to the crown of his skull that he could feel his whole body screaming at him to run.

The giant skeleton looked Toriel in the eye. Then he squeezed his sockets shut, lifted his arm, and placed his hand flat on the barrier.

~

Something…happened.

One second, the pressure in Frisk’s head was intolerable, grief and despair rising to a fever pitch, spurred by the determination to keep the monsters here until they changed their minds, till they were _sorry_. Then—

The sensation could only be likened to someone running their finger down the inside of her chest, the most strange and intimate thing she’d ever felt. It should have been horrible, or at least uncomfortable, but…

But it didn’t feel invasive. It felt like someone giving her heart a gentle nudge, saying in a familiar, gravelly baritone, “’s all right, Frisk. It’s gonna be okay. I promise. But you gotta stop now, ‘kay?”

The feeling slipped away. She stirred, trying to get it back; Frisk opened her eyes and—

Sans. Her chest gave a happy little shiver as she saw him looking down at her. He was standing nearby, giving her a strained smile and…and touching—the barrier—

Fear jolted her fully awake. Frisk whistled as hard as she could, and the searing golden light vanished. Her whole body ached, but it was nothing compared with what she glimpsed as Sans lowered his arm. “Oh, God! Sans—”

“Hey, kitten,” mumbled the boss monster. He had to stifle a grunt, shuffling hastily to turn his back to her. “Tori, could I…get a _hand_ with this? Heh…ow…”

Frisk tried to get up from where she was kneeling, or at least stop shaking. Green light shone around Sans’ huge form, but she barely noticed; all she could see in her mind’s eye were his blackened metacarpals, the smaller bones not just burned, but partially melted by her magic.

Her legs refused to work. Frisk dropped the envelope and shuffled herself around in a half circle to see if anyone else was hurt, and whether they had seen her nearly kill her poor skeleton. No one was here…

 _“Aww, darn. You were_ so _close.”_

…except for a voice that felt like spiders crawling into her brain. The demon-child sat on the edge of a nearby table, shaking its head at her and sighing. Then it gave her an encouraging grin. _“Oh, well. That was still fun—just like old times. Don’t worry, you’ll get ‘em someday!”_

Someone moved behind her. Frisk blinked hard, then shuddered, and pushed herself up onto her feet, standing with her back to the demon. Undyne was climbing out from under their table and offering a webbed hand to Alphys. “Undyne?” The human moved gingerly toward them. “Are you two all right?”

The Captain’s eye widened, and her arm shot out, protecting Alphys from…from what? Frisk glanced around them, looking for—

Her. Undyne was protecting Alphys from _her_.

And why not? Hadn’t she done exactly what the monsters feared most—trapped them with a barrier, maimed someone, and nearly killed them? Even Undyne was afraid of her now!

Frisk shouldn’t have gotten up: she felt her body go heavy, legs giving way. She was only vaguely aware that she was going to fall, and that Undyne was hesitating, moving too late to catch her.

A soft, tingling sensation stopped her just short of the marble floor, lifting her higher into the air. To her dismay, she was enveloped in red magic, and Sans was reaching for her; Frisk tried to say, “No, _don’t_ —”

His arms closed around her, strong and safe, his injured hand settling her against his shoulder. The other drew his coat over her legs; a shaky phalange ran through her hair, and a shakier voice rumbled, “Y’okay, sweetheart?”

Frisk wound her arms around his neck as tight as they’d go, not caring how his vertebrae dug into her flesh. She was too numb to cry, and she didn’t have the strength to ask what he was doing, or why he was anywhere near her. All she could do was hang on.

Undyne cleared her throat. “She…is she okay now?”

“She’ll be fine,” snapped the giant skeleton, and immediately stroked Frisk’s hair again as she trembled. “Shh, s’alright,” he murmured.

“Sans,” Toriel said brokenly. “I—”

The world tipped and swerved as Sans shifted his weight, turning them away. “C’mon, kitten. Let’s go home.”

“To your house?” Undyne was still shaken, but Frisk heard a warning note in her voice. “Look, I know you’re really emotional right now, but she’s not in any condition to—”

“To _sleep_!” he snarled. “I’m takin’ ‘er home, and we’re gonna sleep! Good fuckin’ night!”

A tiny part of Frisk wanted to tell him to be nice, but she couldn’t even stay conscious. The last thing she heard was Toriel’s cry of “Sans, _wait_!” before his magic rushed them through space. Then—

~

_On her third day at the convent, they finally made her leave her room._

_Frisk kept her eyes on the ground, letting the matron steer her down a hall and out into a courtyard full of chattering girls. The noise dropped a little as they saw her, but when Frisk stayed by the wall, there was a collective shrug, and the chatter resumed._

_The wind was howling. Frisk wiped her nose on the sleeve of her new uniform, wondering dully if it was going to snow out here. The drifts in front of Sans and Papyrus’ house never seemed to go down, no matter how often they tossed her into them._

_Did they miss her yet? Did they even know she was gone? Or had the accident—_

_“Excuse me?”  
_

_Frisk looked up. Through her tears, she saw a group of older girls standing in front of her, with a grownup right behind—the Sister must have ordered them to come be nice to the new girl.  
_

_Sure enough, the speaker was holding out a handkerchief, looking kind and concerned._ _“Thank you,” Frisk whispered, taking it and wiping her eyes._

_“It’s all right. I know I was very sad when I first got here,” the girl said, a little too loud. She smiled, and Frisk tried not to shudder—she’d gotten so used to monsters that the girl’s pretty blue eyes, golden hair, and rosy skin looked fake, like a doll._

_The grownup nodded approval and moved away to yell at another group for telling dirty jokes. Immediately, the blonde girl’s smile sharpened, and she wrinkled her nose. “Keep it,” she said curtly._

_That was bad, but at least Frisk had expected it. What really hurt was when the group moved off and the girl said to her friends, “Oh my God, her_ hair _! And did you see her eyes? She looks like a rabbit!”_

_The snickering felt like a scab being ripped off Frisk’s heart._

_“Geez, Mathilda,” another girl said quietly._

_“Well, it’s true! They’re not supposed to be red! Is she cursed or something?” Laughter. “I’m serious! We all need to say extra prayers tonight!”_

_…_

_Would it have changed anything if Frisk had remembered that conversation? Soon after, the King visited and told her everything – how he had thought Chara was at least providing her with basic necessities, and he would be sure she never lacked for anything again – and when she worsened, they decided to remove her memories; the Mother Superior had repeated the most relevant facts about her father and her future education, and Frisk had accepted her new life._

_As far as Frisk knew, the first time she met her best friend was soon afterward, when Mathilda switched places with someone to sit next to her at lunch. “Hello. You must be Frisk,” she said, smiling. “Do you, um…”_

_Frisk watched her in puzzlement. Why was Mathilda Owen bothering to speak to her?_

_Mathilda fidgeted. “Never mind. I just wanted to say hello.” Why did she look so guilty? Her friends were watching, whispering anxiously to each other, as though something important was at stake. “Would you like to come and sit with us? I hate to see you all by yourself.”_

_As soon as she figured out that it wasn’t a cruel prank, and she really was making friends with the most beautiful and kind-hearted girl in the entire school, Frisk was too happy to question things further. It took her a long time to realize that everyone knew why the King had been here, and that everyone wanted his daughter to like them, especially Mathilda._

_Even then, Frisk had decided not to care. As long as she could earn their friendship by being kind and helpful, did it really matter how it’d started? It wasn’t as if she was only worth something because of her father._

_…It_ wasn’t.

~

_…Finally.  
_

_She shook the ruby droplets from the kitchen knife, wondering idly why he was the only monster who ever bled, then kicked the dust aside. It was time to move on._

~

Frisk awoke in a rush of adrenaline and half-remembered nightmares. It was dark; she thought for a moment that she’d been buried alive, then realized that something huge and leathery was draped over her entire body. No golden twilight through the windows, no blood, no dust…

Ugh. Her mouth tasted like a warm sock, and her head throbbed the way it always did when she’d used too much magic. With great care, the human slithered out of her warm prison for a look around.

She was in Sans’ room, lying on his outgrown mattress, his overcoat loosely wrapped around her. The lamp was on, but he’d draped an old shirt over it to diffuse the light into a soft glow, giving the cold, messy space a warmer aspect; in fact, the golden haze reminded her of—

A barrier. Chills swept through her, clearing her head of other thoughts like a blast of frigid air. It wasn’t just a nightmare: she had used a barrier against monsters inside the Underground. There was no coming back from that, no excusing or explaining it away. Even if Toriel hadn’t really meant it at the time, her order to leave would probably become reality. Her friends might not entirely blame her for lashing out, but there was still no way they could trust her anymore—after she had hurt Sans like that, she’d be angry if he did trust her!

Frisk slowly eased herself back down inside the coat, as if she could hide from what she’d done. In her bitter, selfish regret, she didn’t even think of what this meant for her peace efforts; all she knew was that the Underground was the only place she’d ever really belonged – her birthplace – and she had lost any right to be here. Back to the humans, then, and her suffocating routine of work, exhaustion, and loneliness, secretly hoping that maybe, if she could be useful enough, someone would love her for more than her money or her pedigree and _stay_. If she could just be good enough—

Well, obviously, she couldn’t.

Frisk wasn’t going to cry again. She was tired of crying about things in general, and in this case, there was no possible way to make herself feel better. Why bother making her headache worse and her sleeves all soggy again? She just burrowed deeper into the huge leather coat, willing her mind to subside into comfortable nothingness; at least she was good at that.

It usually helped to have something small to focus on, so Frisk unhooked her itchy black choker and scratched her neck, flushing at the memory of flirting with Sans in front of everyone. Then came her boots, her stockings, and her earrings…

…which weren’t there. The priestess frowned, fingering her earlobes. She didn’t remember taking them out. Had they come off while she was asleep?

Wait a moment. Sans had put her here, hadn’t he? Her satchel was close by; Frisk stuck her arm out until she could pull it over and peek inside. Sure enough, not only had the boss monster removed her earrings for her, he’d left them atop her folded clothes, where they were both safe and easily found.

For some reason, that one little thing, that bit of care and attention, was the last straw. She took a deep breath, only for it to catch as a huge sob tore loose, partly muffled by his coat. Then another, and—

Sans was suddenly standing by the mattress. “Frisk!” He sat down hard. “Frisk, it’s okay, don’t—”

The human forgot that he was supposed to be scared of her. Moving on pure instinct, she flung the coat aside and launched herself up at him, letting his shirt absorb the first wave of tears. “Aww,” he murmured, folding his arms over her back and cradling her head in one massive palm. “C’mon, sweetheart, ya don’t hafta cry. Everythin’s fine now.”

Frisk pressed her face into his clavicle, furiously shaking her head. It was important to explain to him that nothing was fine and it was absolutely correct for her to be crying, but she was crying too hard to get the words out.

Sans gave a large, soft sigh, carrying her outward and back in. “It’s okay,” he repeated, his voice rumbling throughout her body. She shook her head again, and he ran the side of his finger down her back. “Yuh-huh, it is. Calm down.”

She didn’t want to calm down, but as he kept petting her, Frisk’s sobs slowed down a little. The boss monster made a sound deep in his chest, and she answered him with one that made him squeeze her tighter.

There was that magnetic feeling again, as though she was completely stuck to him. This time, though, she wasn’t frightened. And this time, she felt something else: another sensation was stealing over her, so slowly that she thought it might just be her imagination. It was similar to when he’d accidentally given her his magic, but this didn’t seem accidental, and it wasn’t exactly magic…

She’d felt it when he touched the barrier, and here it was again, washing over her in gentle waves: guilt and anger at himself for kicking off the whole incident, anxiety for her, and…well. _He_ didn’t think she was worthless, or dangerous, or that she needed to do a single thing to deserve forgiveness. His hand didn’t even hurt anymore. …Much.

Even if it did, he still loved her.

Frisk shook her head again, but her sobs grew slower and weaker, gradually coming to a stop. The human leaned away long enough to sniff back a giant wad of snot, then sought a dry patch of his shirt to wipe her eyes. She wasn’t sure how he was doing this, but she wasn’t going to question it right now. “Hand?” she croaked.

Sans was quiet. He grunted, then held his palm up. “It ain’t that bad. Looks kinda like a frowny face. See?”

The priestess gulped, raising her own fingers to trace the pattern of deep swirls and grooves her magic had left in the living bones. “Can…” Frisk had to swallow a few more times before she could whisper, “Can you still move them?”

He paused. She felt a closing-off sort of twinge in her chest, as though he’d decided to stop sharing his feelings so he could fib: “Yeah, pretty much.” His metacarpals waggled back and forth, the smallest of them longer than her entire hand. She poked the base of his thumb and forefinger, where a good two or three inches of bone were fused together. “That doesn’t count,” he said stubbornly.

Frisk shuddered, turning to rest her cheek near the top of his sternum. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Do ya wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t know,” she said, and winced as her head throbbed. “What time is it?”

“Last I checked, it was about seven o’clock,” he replied, petting her hair again. “I got up maybe half an hour ago an’ healed you, just in case.” Tap, tap. “How’s yer hangover?”

“…Not that bad, actually.” Frisk yawned. She’d missed being with him so much that it felt like a waste to just sleep, but it was hard to argue with the results. After all she’d had to drink last night, and then…the incident, she was amazed that she only had a headache and an icky mouth. “Thank you for that. It feels like I got much more than five or six hours.”

Sans chuckled, tapping her head again. “That’s ‘cause it’s seven in the evening, kitten. I think we slept about eighteen hours.”

Frisk’s eyes shot open. “Are you serious?” She leaned back enough to look him in the face. “Is that even possible? I—”

The words faded as their eyes met. Frisk figured she must look pretty awful, but he wasn’t much better. “Did I miss a spot?” he asked gruffly.

The human nodded, reaching up to brush at the dried red on the corners of his sockets. Sans leaned into her touch as she rubbed his cheekbone. “You’re supposed to be a big boy now,” she scolded the giant skeleton. “Do I need to—”

Memory hit her again like a fist. Sans jumped as Frisk suddenly yanked her hand away, trying to push herself off him. “Hey!” he protested. “What’re you—wouldja hold on a damn minute?!” More by reflex than design, his hand tightened around her back, keeping her in place. “It was an accident, goddammit! You’re not gonna do it again!”

“No, it wasn’t!” Frisk thumped his shoulder with her tiny fist. “You don’t understand!” Thump. “It wasn’t an accident! I was so _angry_ , I wanted to keep everyone there, and I didn’t want to control it! I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t stopped me!”

Sans started. “That little fucker,” the skeleton whispered, as if he’d realized something very profound. “I know what it was, Frisk. That goddamn _thing_ was right there! I saw it a minute before the whole name thing started! I dunno if it made me drop the letter so you’d freak out, or if it was plannin’ something else, but it wanted you to go nuts! That’s why—”

“No! It wasn’t!” Thump. Thump. “Are you even listening?! It was _me_! I did it on purpose!” Thump. “I was already…” Frisk shuddered, shaking her head again as more emotions boiled to the surface. “Do you know how scared I’ve been? We’re halfway through our visit, and I haven’t even talked to anyone about ending slavery! I’ve just been thinking of how to tell Asgore and Toriel about Chara, whether they’d believe me and if I’ve been selfish to keep back something that could help make peace—I had no idea their estrangement was because Asgore knew Chara was lying about me! And I missed you so much—” His arms tightened, and Frisk caught herself on another sob. “I don’t want to go, Sans!”

“No one’s makin’ you go anywhere!” He gave her a very light shake. “We all know you, Frisk! Ya think anyone’s sittin’ there thinkin’, ‘Welp, that was inevitable, let’s go ahead ‘n toss ‘er out now’? Or d’ya think we feel like shit ‘cause we kept pokin’ you till you couldn’t take it anymore?”

“How can you say that?” she demanded. “It doesn’t matter how badly I was provoked! I wouldn’t let _you_ get away with attacking me just because you were angry!”

“Y’already did. Remember?” He stroked her back with one knuckle. “You coulda done anythin’ you wanted once I quit tryin’ ta murder you, and ya put me to bed ‘n fed me.”

…Damn it. “That’s not the same thing! I—”

“Frisk.” His phalange brushed her cheek. “Yer the one who’s not listenin’. _No one_ is makin’ you leave. We’re gonna talk about it with everybody, there’s gonna be a big damn fight over who’s the most sorry, an’ we’re gonna figure out how to get you in to see Asgore. You’re gonna say whatever you need to about Chara and lay out yer big plan to make everything all better. If he doesn’t wanna do it, we’ll figure somethin’ else out before we leave.” His hand rested on her back like a shield. “And I’m gonna quit actin’ like all I hafta do is stay outta yer way an’ let you do everything. From now on, I want you ta tell me if somethin’s botherin’ you _before_ ya go crazy.” Squeeze. “Any questions?”

Frisk thought about it as she sniffled. “Yes. Why couldn’t you have been this sweet when I gave you the stupid chessboard?”

He snorted. “Yer startin’ ta sound like me.” Pause. Shrug. “Short answer? It was pretty much the best thing I ever got, and I didn’t know what to say.”

“Whatever happened to ‘Thank you,’ Sans?” Thump. “I was really looking forward to you opening your gift, and you couldn’t wait to get away from it!”

“I know, I know!” His shoulders hunched again. “’m sorry! I…wanted ta jump you, but that wasn’t exactly an option. I didn’t know what else ta do!”

How could he make her want to hug _and_ slap him so badly? “Well, putting that aside, do you plan to spend the rest of your life running off when you get embarrassed?”

“I wasn’t—” He caught himself and scowled. “I dunno. Just…sorry I was shitty about the chess stuff. It was amazing, and thank you a lot for it. Okay?”

He was so exasperatingly cute that Frisk had to bite her lip. “All right, then. You’re welcome. I…”

_Rrrrgggrgrgl._

They both froze as her stomach rumbled. Frisk made a sheepish sound, and Sans chuckled. “Right. I was in the middle of makin’ a couple sandwiches when I came up.”

Frisk nodded. “Where’s Papyrus?” She wiped her eyes again. “Please don’t say he’s planning to make dinner.”

“Nope! I left a note on the door tellin’ him and Undyne ta stay at the inn tonight. I said we’d meet ‘em at the Ruins tomorrow morning.”

They were going to be alone tonight? The priestess felt light-headed, her cheeks burning. Sans must have been thinking the same thing, because she could’ve sworn his bones were getting warmer. “Time ta eat,” he mumbled, and a blink later, they were in the living room.

Still in his arms, Frisk turned her head to survey the kitchen table. He’d set out a loaf of bread, some cheese, tomatoes, and a few other things, obviously dropped when he’d heard her crying. Frisk thought about it, then snuggled back into Sans. There was food, and she was starving, but he was right here, too; she didn’t know which she wanted more at the moment.

Another rumble from her stomach settled the question. “Off ya go,” he said reluctantly, and Frisk sighed, moving her hand down to push free of their stuck-togetherness.

Sans suddenly made a strangled sound. Frisk didn’t understand it, or why his hand had flexed to avoid squashing her, until she looked down: she’d accidentally reached in between his ribs, pushing his shirt through and wrapping her fingers most of the way around his middle rib.

She’d never put her hands inside his ribcage, assuming it was basically a private part, and it seemed she was right. Just like that, his breathing had grown ragged, his bones trembling as her hand tightened. There was no misinterpreting his physical reaction; she could imagine how his instincts to comfort and protect her were deepening into much more raw emotion…

…because it was completely mutual. The young woman tugged lightly on his rib, and felt him shudder again. “Frisk,” he muttered. “Knock it off.”

Frisk moved just enough to brush her cheek against his jawbone. “What?” One finger slid along the bone toward his sternum. “This?”

Sans’ entire frame jerked. “Yes, that!” He caught her wrist in the curl of his index finger. “If I was a human, it’d be like stickin’ yer hand down my pants!”

“You don’t want me to?” she asked, very matter-of-fact.

Sans’ arm across her back was almost hurting her. Not tight enough, then. “Frisk,” he said warningly.

“I’m serious.” She licked her lips, feeling heat spread through her, chasing away the sorrow and anger. “My period’s over, the house is empty, and your magic doesn’t have any negativity at all right now.” Her free hand drifted toward his sternum. “We both need this, Sans. Don’t tell me you’re not interested.”

“I’m not sayin’ that!” To her bewilderment, he seized her with his magic and set her on the couch with a butt-tingling thump. “Just… I want you so bad, I’m about to lose my damn mind!” His entire skull was bright red. “But you’re still messed up from somethin’ that only happened ‘cause I was bein’ a dumbass, an’ I’m not gonna do it when you’re not thinkin’ straight! That would be fuckin’ _wrong_! Got it?” Despite himself, he stepped closer to touch her cheek. “’Sides, there’s somethin’ we’ve really gotta talk about first. The letter from yer dad is…”

He trailed off as her face twitched. “What?” he asked suspiciously.

“So, you…” Frisk knew this was not the time, but she couldn’t keep the words from bubbling up: “You’d be…fucking wrong?” Her body was trembling again, this time with the urge to giggle. “You already went the extra mile and figured out how to be my size. I’m pretty sure that means you can do it correctly now!”

“Frisk,” he said, scandalized, and covered his face as she _snrrrk_ ed. “God damn it, woman, I’m tryin’ ta be serious here!”

She didn’t answer, at least not out loud. Sans took one look at her face and gave his scariest growl. “No.”

“But—”

“Frisk.”

“But are you—”

“Friiiiisk—”

A long pause. Frisk sighed in resignation, shrugging one shoulder. Sans nodded. “Okay. Now, for real, Frisk, I’m—”

“— _fucking_ serious?”

The dam broke: one moment, they were staring each other down, and then they burst into hysterical, snorting laughter. Frisk was sobbing again, but for the right reason, dammit; Sans let his forehead thunk on the floor, trying desperately to stop long enough to say something, only to end up laughing harder.

Eventually, out of sheer weakness, they had to slow down, and reached a point where they could almost breathe normally. “Shit,” rasped Sans. He wiped his eyes on his sleeves. “Oh my _God_ , I love you.”

Frisk’s breath caught, her heart coming to a standstill. She sat up, watching the skeleton realize what he’d said. His sockets widened, but he looked straight at her, almost defiantly. “What?” There went the red again. He looked away…and back. “’s true,” he said, very quietly.

There was no telling what she might have done if Sans hadn’t pushed to his feet and waved his hand at the table. The bread knife started sawing away, cutting the loaf into sandwich slices and assembling the ingredients. “We need ta eat somethin’, an’ then I should go track yer letter down,” he mumbled, trying to rub the color off his skull. “I dunno if someone picked it up, or if it got left up there, or what. You can get some time to yerself—take a bath or somethin’.”

A bath sounded good, decided the one functional corner of her mind. She accepted the glass of water and mostly-tomato sandwich he wafted over to her a moment later, ignoring his muttered apologies for its crappiness. Nor did she pay much heed when he said something else, tapped a knuckle on her shoulder, and winked out of sight.

Alone for the first time in several days, Frisk finished her sandwich. She put the dishes in the sink, went upstairs, and ran a very hot bath, staring at the steam rising from the water. Then she went to Sans’ room, removed all her clothes, and lay down to wrap herself in his overcoat again. She hadn’t touched herself since before they left the castle, and she was even more worked up now than she’d been the night she made herself clear to Sans; being in his room, with the feeling of his bones and everything he’d said to her fresh in her mind, anticipating time to themselves at last—that was more than her body could handle. So…

It took so little time that the water was still hot when Frisk stumbled back into the bathroom. She left the door open a crack before she got in the tub, because…the steam…had to escape. Yes. The door needed to be open. For the steam.

Frisk knew exactly when Sans returned; to her disappointment, she heard an embarrassed mutter in the hall, and the door clicked shut. Just because she could, Frisk splashed louder, whistling his favorite song and letting the notes linger more than she probably had to. She let the water out, also loudly, and kept humming as she dried herself and got dressed.

Sans was obviously on his guard when she came downstairs, which was wise: she was wearing his old clothes again, hands in the pockets of his zipped-up blue jacket, though she hadn’t had the nerve to put on any socks. He gave her one glance, reddened again, and turned his head, shoving the golden envelope at her. “Here.”

Frisk swallowed. “Thank you.” She studied the envelope for a moment, then tossed it on the couch and advanced on him. “I’m feeling much better now, so—”

“Nope!” Sans skipped away fast enough to make her yelp a little. He held up his good hand, as if to ward her off. “Dammit, Frisk, I mean it when I say I’m not gonna fuck you yet! Sit down and listen!”

Startled, the human sank onto the couch. Sans scratched the back of his head, collecting his thoughts. “Okay. So. Gaster gave me that thing, an’ he told me what’s in it.” He shut his eyes. “First thing: your King’s been talkin’ about you all over the place. Everyone—all the humans know Chara was yer mom.”

Frisk’s stomach lurched. “I see,” she murmured. Sans watched anxiously as she blew out a long breath. “Well, at least if I start throwing barriers at humans, it won’t frighten them.”

Sans chuckled. “Nope. They’d think it was neat,” he agreed.

The priestess thought it over, and decided that this particular problem could go back on the shelf for now. “Did someone see the letter and start spreading the word?”

“Yep. Gaster says yer dad’s pissed off, and that’s his way of bein’ passive-aggressive.” He indicated the envelope. “He fixed up a bunch of legal stuff with your name all over it.”

“‘Legal stuff’?” Frisk scowled. “Am I being arrested for theft?” She almost hoped so; that was a fight she’d enjoy winning. “If I am, I swear I will burn down the entire—”

“Nope. Just the opposite.” The skeleton took a deep, deep breath. “He…”

Watching his face, it suddenly clicked. “He wants to adopt me?” she asked crisply.

Blink. “…Uh.” Blink. “…yes?” Emphatic blink. “How the hell did you know?”

Her teeth clenched, all her muscles knotting at once, and then she let it go with a sigh. “He hinted at it a few times back when I was teaching Gaius magic. It’s been so long, I forgot all about it.” Mostly. “The poor boy isn’t going to live long enough to have his own heirs, and my older siblings are almost all gone, so… I was hoping His Majesty would name one of his more distant relatives, or pick another of his children.”

“Well, you’re the best he’s got.” Frisk flushed as Sans sat down against the opposite wall. “Is that a normal thing fer humans? You’re gettin’ old and yer official kid is kinda puny, so you grab a backup?”

Frisk crossed her legs, absently enjoying his reaction. “It’s uncommon, but it’s happened before in order to keep a particular bloodline going.” She picked up the envelope and broke the wax seal. “I’ll bet you a million dinar my father says he’s invited Luke and Mathilda back to the castle with their family. He went to school with Luke’s father, so he probably wants to get reacquainted before they announce our engagement.”

The boss monster watched in silence as she pulled out a sheaf of expensive papers, setting aside the copies of her ducal investiture and adoption decree. Frisk unfolded the handwritten letter, read it over carefully, and nodded. “You owe me a million dinar.”

He didn’t laugh. “See? If you end up havin’ my kid, it’s probably not gonna improve yer chances of bein’ Queen someday and gettin’ to set everything right for everyone.” Sans shrugged, eyes on the floor. “Not the kinda thing I can ask you to give up just so I can get laid.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest and rekindled in her middle, where she was still sensitive from her personal time upstairs. “I’m not giving anything up. I don’t want to be Queen,” she said calmly. “I want to become the humans’ ambassador to the monster race and set up an embassy somewhere close by—maybe at the farm on the river.” She set the papers aside and got to her feet, her entire body humming. “And if I do have a child, I’m going to love it and raise it, no matter how hard things get…even if it’s only half human.”

Sans’ eyes went blank. “…Frisk?”

The High Priestess’ heart was pounding so hard that she wondered if he could hear it as she crossed the room. She stopped in front of him, and held her hand out. “Will you stay with me, Sans?”

His hand came up to engulf hers and tug her against him, even as he shook his head. “Ya can’t decide somethin’ like that so quick,” Sans protested. Frisk leaned in just hard enough for him to feel her breasts through the thick blue jacket, and he shuddered. “I-I mean, believe me, I understand bein’ horny, but—”

Frisk reached up to rap on his cheekbone with her knuckles. “Excuse me, sir, but my mind has been made up since I opened the box.” She turned to press her lips to his phalanges. “Take me to your room, please.”

The light in his sockets dilated nearly all the way. Massive hands closed around her, and the world suddenly rushed by, depositing them by the door in his room. His magic pulled the mattress out to the center of the floor, straightening his overcoat in lieu of sheets or a blanket; the skeleton released her and glanced around for a moment, visibly regretting that they weren’t in a more romantic or at least clean environment. “Close yer eyes,” he mumbled.

Frisk complied, feeling and hearing him compress his huge frame down to human size. She opened her eyes just in time for Sans to pull her down to the mattress, setting her in his lap with her calves draped over his femurs. As before, he didn’t seem to care how his clothes hung off him; he simply yanked his sleeves back, then slipped his arm around her waist, the other running through her hair as he mouthed her neck.

That was a good start; the priestess wound her arms around him as Sans pulled her even closer. She made a delicate little sound as he slid his tongue into her mouth, his movements slow and gentle until she deliberately nipped him.

He nearly snarled at her, one hand gripping the small of her back and the other tangling in her hair. Frisk almost purred at the twinges in her scalp, letting him hold her in place as the kiss grew rougher and his fangs grazed her lip.

She couldn’t believe how easily this was coming to her, how gratifying it was—all it took was a few little sighs, soft touches, and complete sexual abandon. Who knew?

It was more than a physical urge, though. She couldn’t even guess which of them needed this more, to be held and explored, valued, accepted—

The hand on her back had crept under her jacket, finding the hem of her shirt and then encountering bare skin. Frisk shivered pleasurably at the feel of bones gliding up her side, and at the disbelieving sound he made. “Holy shit,” breathed Sans. “You’re so soft.” His nasal ridge dropped back to the crook of her neck; he inhaled so deeply that she felt a rush of cold on her damp skin. “You smell amazing—” His tongue ran across her throat, his teeth sinking just hard enough to make her whimper and reach up to caress his skull. “I don’t…are ya really sure about this?”

Sighing inwardly, the priestess nuzzled the side of his vertebrae; he sucked in his breath as her tongue ran over the dry bone. Her legs shifted toward him, hips scooting closer as she guided his hands to her waist. Sans accepted the invitation, hitching up his baggy trousers and carefully grinding his pelvis into her so that she could feel his magic more directly.

It was one thing to have undergone a comprehensive scientific education and read dozens upon dozens of romance novels, and quite another to actually feel male parts…or magical facsimiles. The eternal, universal question sprang to mind: how was anything that size supposed to fit in her? That couldn’t be right. If she didn’t know better, she’d dismiss the whole idea as an elaborate prank, and childbirth as some kind of optical illusion. But…

Frisk ducked her head into his shoulder, face burning as his fingers combed through her hair. Luckily, Sans was oblivious. “’s not fair,” he murmured above her. “Everythin’ about you feels nice, ‘n I’m just a buncha gross bones.”

Frisk gave a disapproving snort—this, she could handle. “Here, give me your hand.” Ignoring her hot cheeks, she took his wrist and slid his hand up under her jacket, unable to suppress a tremor as his phalanges traced the underside of her breast. “If I thought you were ‘gross,’ would I be letting you do this?”

There was no telling what Sans thought: his powers of speech had degenerated into a series of incoherent sounds. To her irritation, he withdrew his hand and grabbed at the bottom of her jacket, desperate to pull it over her head…only to blink in confusion as Frisk _snrk_ ed at him, leaning back and helpfully tapping the zipper.

As it turned out, the joke was on her. In another split-second, Sans had the jacket unzipped and the sleeves pulled straight down her arms, the whole thing tossed aside; before she knew what had happened, he was crushing her against him, his hands back under her white shirt, palms sweeping along her sides and up across her back—

In the heat of the moment, both of them had forgotten about her scars. Frisk tensed as his hands passed over the rough skin, and he stopped dead. “This okay?” he inquired after a moment, giving her a few experimental pets. “Doesn’t feel too weird, does it?”

The young woman shook her head, resting it on his shoulder and reminding herself that he’d already seen them. There was nothing to worry about or feel ashamed of. “You can touch it if you want. It doesn’t feel like much of anything anymore—the nerve endings are gone.”

Sans ground his teeth. “Are ya sure I can’t go kill that bitch?”

Purely on instinct, Frisk placed her slender fingers between his upper ribs, near his sternum; his eyes widened further as she pulled herself the rest of the way onto his bony, baggy-trousered lap. “Please don’t,” she said against his jaw. “I think we have better things to d—”

In one motion, Sans pulled her shirt off and hitched her forward to lay them both down on the mattress. With her face aflame and her heart galloping harder than ever, Frisk stayed still as he rose on one elbow to look her over, jaws parting to breathe more heavily; but to her surprise, when he reached down, all he did was rest his right palm on her sternum, where they could both feel her heartbeat reverberating through the disfigured bones.

Frisk gradually forget to be embarrassed, or cold, letting him see that she trusted him enough to stay exposed. Sans moved his thumb a little, and without thinking, she rested her hand on his, playing with the gaps between his joints. They were both content to stay that way for a few quiet moments, studying the contrast between her skin and his bones.

Soon, though, he had to lean down again to kiss her, and his hand turned to stroke her breast with the backs of his fingers. Frisk made a soft sound and tried to sit up to demand more; to her surprise, he shook his head and slung his femur across her waist, pinning her to the mattress. “Slow down, kitten,” he muttered. “I don’t wanna go nuts an’ hurt you by accident.”

That was cheating! She was already aroused enough; when she reached down to grab his hand, only to have her wrists corraled and pinned over her head with a trace of red magic, she couldn’t help moaning out loud.

Sans’ orange eyes were fully dilated now. He had sat up and partly turned aside, but couldn’t look away from her writhing and urgent noises. “What’d I just say?!” he snapped.

“I can’t help it!” Frisk squirmed again. “Let me go, and I’ll stop! Please!”

With unnatural speed, Sans released her and kicked off his trousers. His full weight flattened her to the mattress, and something pressed very distinctively into her stomach; Frisk tried to look down between their bodies, but his baggy shirt was blocking her view. Was it red like the rest of his magic, or—

His fingers caught her chin, making her look up at him. “Okay, kitten. You ready?” He let go long enough to hook his phalanges in the waistband of her black-and-white-striped pants, and rested his forehead on hers. “I…” He exhaled, his entire body trembling. “I’m just guessin’ on size. Went with somethin’ like this.” His tongue stuck out for a moment. “If it doesn’t work, then—”

“It’s all right, Sans.” Frisk leaned up to kiss his jaw, wiggling her hips to help him remove her last piece of clothing. “Go ahead.”

Sans nodded, taking in the view with his jaws still parted and his eyes burning, but he clearly couldn’t wait any longer. She let him arrange her arms around him, then run his hand over her waist and hips, rubbing her thighs for an appreciative moment before he nudged her legs open.

Either Sans had read up on this process, or the instincts Undyne had mentioned could adapt to human anatomy, because he didn’t even hesitate. He plucked the folds of his shirt out of the way and reached down, and Frisk jumped as something prodded her entrance. She’d gotten a couple of her fingers in there before, but as Sans moved forward into her, she couldn’t help wincing. The pressure quickly grew into discomfort as her body started giving way; she buried her face in Sans’ shirt, and he paused for a second, then leaned in—

Romance novels had absolutely lied to her. The pressure built into sharp, burning pain as he pushed further into her, and Frisk couldn’t hold back a little sob as he moved out, and back in. He shook his head; she tried to tell him it was all right, only to cry out as he sank the rest of the way inside. “God—‘m sorry, Frisk, just—” His hips moved back again, and he started to sit up.

Frisk latched onto his ribs again, legs squeezing his pelvis in the strangest, strongest determination she’d ever felt. She didn’t care if it hurt: he needed her, she needed him, and she’d be damned if she’d let it end yet! “Don’t stop,” she whispered, keenly aware of the effect her voice had on him. Just to be certain, she ran her finger over the back of his skull. “Please?”

There were no more words after that. The boss monster slammed into her again, drawing another near-sob from her. He snarled deep in his throat, hands trembling as they grasped the overcoat behind her head; with a huge effort, he drew out and pushed in more slowly, then stayed still for a moment. Frisk made the mistake of wriggling her hips to try to adjust to the feeling of fullness – of intrusion, really – and he swiftly jerked out and slammed in again.

That was enough for Frisk. She pulled clumsily at him with her legs, and he either took the hint or couldn’t hold back anymore: he groaned, movements faster and more erratic the closer he came. Frisk held on, ignoring the pain and focusing on the fierce exultation of watching him lose himself in her; when he started to slow down a little, she growled and bit his clavicle as hard as she could, determined to see him finish.

Sure enough, Sans groaned deep in his throat, ending on a snarl; his hips went once—twice—three times more, and his arms locked around her, his entire body shoving her into the mattress as hard as she’d wanted. Frisk let him ride it out for as long as _he_ wanted, waiting till the tension in his limbs finally relaxed and he slumped against her.

Neither one spoke for several minutes. There was no need for him to pull out: she felt his magic vanish, and tried not to breathe too big a sigh of relief. Well, she couldn’t be disappointed in the lack of multiple orgasms or even much pleasure yet—how could she when Sans was lying in her arms, rubbing his face into her neck as his breathing began to slow?

Frisk stroked his skull and shifted her weight where his leg was digging into her, and immediately regretted it as her entire lower half protested. She was going to have _many_ bruises in the morning. They would just have to work on their technique, she thought, resting her cheek on his cranium.

Sans showed no signs of life besides his breathing for several minutes. She was starting to worry a little when he moved his head enough to say, “M’rm.”

The young woman blinked. “Beg pardon?”

He was silent for a long time. “Never mind. I’ll ask ya later.” Sans rose up on his elbow and shakily leaned in to lick her neck again. “Thank you,” he murmured.

There was so much behind it that Frisk didn’t know what to say. Instead, she reached up and pulled his head back down to her breasts, resting his cheekbone over her heart. It made her remember how he’d shared his feelings directly with her before, and wonder what’d happen if he tried that in the middle of sex…

Frisk sighed. That was another thing to put away for later, to worry about and/or look forward to when she got to it. For now, she closed her eyes, and waited for Sans to say something else; then she peeked at him, and saw that she was wasting her time. He was already fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have finally premiered our video of Chapter 1, part 1! [Here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c1yeE_UGUeY&feature=emb_title)
> 
> I am also taking commissions! Email me (my username, at Gmail) for more details. I’m neither shy nor picky.


	19. Dreamer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gooood morning, all! Sorry for the massive delay, but it turns out that being inattentive-type ADHD and having to help a freshly diagnosed inattentive-type ADHD kid with her schoolwork 5 days a week is kind of a creative-boner-killer. This will be my last update of 2020, may this year rot in Hell**, as I have gifts to do and commissions to finish (shout-out to mysticalwingedwolf and especially xxtyraxesxxlove for their extremely kind patience). Peace out!
> 
> ** I swear before God and anime that as I was trying to get this uploaded, our upstairs toilet semi-exploded for no discernible reason. I am so sorry, 2020. Pleeease do not hurt me any further

_Sans had never dreaded anything like he was dreading the human delegation’s arrival. The prospect of a giant pack of humans invading their home for an entire month was terrible enough; seeing Papyrus’ excitement about it was much, much worse._

_It was useless to try to rein him in. The younger skeleton_ knew _what humanity did to monsters, but he still insisted that if there were good and bad monsters, there had to be good and bad humans, too. And bad humans were so_ very _bad that the good ones must be_ amazing _! If any of them came with the delegation and none of the monsters even tried to befriend them, he argued, then not only would it hurt their feelings, it’d guarantee that nothing between their races would ever change!_

 _Sans knew better. He just couldn’t tell Pap what he’d overheard on the humans’ last trip to the Underground, about eleven years ago. The night they arrived, he’d taken a shortcut to the castle dining room and stationed himself behind a column to eavesdrop; to his surprise, the humans were thanking Asgore and Toriel for their hospitality in a perfectly gracious and respectful manner, and were equally courteous to all the other monsters. One older man in nondescript clothes was charming the absolute_ crap _out of the Princess, who hadn’t seen any other humans since she came to the Underground as a child._

 _It was the first real hope Sans had felt in a long time. What was going on? Had King Stephin or someone else in power decided that monsters were people after all, and it was wrong for humanity to do such horrific things to them just because they could? Were they_ sorry _?_

_Eventually, the humans had bidden their hosts good night and retired to the guest rooms. On a hunch, Sans followed them, waiting for them to talk amongst themselves…_

_…and soon wished he hadn’t. The moment the oldest members of the group went to bed, the rest of them had dropped the act and started saying the most_ vile _things Sans had ever heard. They displayed no regard for the monsters as living beings, much less equals; they seemed to view their hosts as talking livestock, complaining that they weren’t allowed to bring any “creatures” home with them and speculating openly on each monster’s price at auction. The royal family would be the most valuable, of course, but there were plenty of monsters rare or powerful enough to be worth catching—for example, there were only two skeletons in the whole Underground. Too bad monsters didn’t breed in captivity, or else they could—_

_That was the first time Sans genuinely wanted to kill a human. Three of his blasters had materialized without his even knowing it, hovering eagerly over his shoulder; he had to force them back and take a shortcut home before he passed judgment right then and there._

_The worst part was that when he eventually calmed down, he realized there was no point in telling anyone what he’d heard: most monsters already knew better than to trust humans, and even if Asgore chose to believe Sans – and forgave him for spying on their guests – what could he do about it? Demand they apologize and, while they were at it, please stop kidnapping and murdering his people? No, Sans had to settle for keeping his then-teenage brother in the house till the humans were gone, no matter how hard Papyrus whined._

_Then came the mess with Chara, and the royal family breaking apart; the monsters weren’t sure exactly what had happened, but they knew it was something to do with the humans, and everyone was so upset that Sans was confident there would be no more visits to worry about._

_But now, with Chara and an entire diplomatic corps on their way, the royals had come back together and were expecting everyone to play nice. He couldn’t keep Pap indoors for a whole month! They’d have to make “friends” with the humans, who would be on their best behavior, and to whom Papyrus would triumphantly point as the good ones he’d been talking about. Sans would know what they were thinking, but still have to smile and shrug and say he’d been wrong; after all, the fate of every monster in existence hinged on keeping humans happy, especially rare specimens like him and Pap—better to be sneered at than enslaved or_ dead _._

_Thus, when the big day finally arrived and Papyrus managed to get lost on the way to meet the delegation, Sans was secretly relieved to have a few more minutes before they had to interact with any humans. Of course, then they encountered one in the back hallways, and—_

_When they followed the sound of laughter and first saw the human child, Sans wasn’t just_ _unpleasantly surprised: he was_ terrified _. Something about the kid was familiar, and_ wrong _. The skeleton kept a straight face as he fought to suppress his magic, which wanted to erupt into a wall of bones and blasters—damn, there was no room in here! He had to be ready to grab his brother and shortcut away before it killed them ag—_

_But when Papyrus asked him if that was a human, Sans’ racing thoughts slammed to a halt. Behind his fixed grin, he shook himself, looked again, and saw…a scrawny kid with bad hair and a slightly runny nose, about as threatening as an old sock. Just a polite, nervous little human who smiled at them and cracked up at Sans’ “handshake”…_

_Heh. Welp, it wasn’t his first freak-out after a sleepless night, and it probably wouldn’t be his last. Hopefully, the next one would be triggered by something less embarrassing._

_Still, Sans couldn’t quite shake the impression. When Pap told him to go home, he did actually stop by the house to check that there wasn’t too_ _much stuff on the floor or any fresh stains on the kitchen counter. Then he came straight back to the Grand Hall, reappearing in a handy niche near the head of the stairs and listening for his brother._

_Papyrus was never difficult to locate: most of the Hall could probably hear him talking to the Royal Guard. Unwilling to risk Undyne noticing him, Sans took another shortcut to the foyer right above the staircase. The royal family and the most important humans had started walking up toward Waterfall, but he couldn’t follow them yet; he needed to keep both sockets on that kid. It was pretty suspicious for Kris to have been wandering around on his own right after the humans arrived—had they turned him loose to make “friends” and gain the monsters’ trust?_

_Sans would be the judge of that. He waited until his brother had come through the foyer with Kris, then trailed silently after them, almost daring the kid to make a false move._

_“NOW, HUMAN!” cried Papyrus, gesturing grandly at the entrance to Waterfall. “PREPARE YOURSELF FOR THE GREAT PAPYRUS’ VERY GREAT TOUR OF OUR GREATEST HOME! IT IS CALLED…‘THE UNDERGROUND’!! …EXCEPT FOR THAT PART OVER THERE, WHICH IS CALLED ‘UNDYNE’S HOUSE’! DO YOU REMEMBER UNDYNE?”_

_Sans focused his magic to see and hear the human more clearly across the dark cavern. To his wary surprise, Kris just blinked, then said pleasantly, “Yes. She seemed very nice.”_

_There was no need to use magic to hear Papyrus more clearly; in fact, Sans had to ease the spell back as his brother laughed. “NYEH HEH HEH! CORRECT! SHE IS VERY NICE INDEED! YOU WILL LIKE HER MORE EVERY TIME YOU MEET, UNTIL YOU LOVE HER NEARLY AS MUCH AS YOU LOVE ME! THAT WOULD BE IMPOSSIBLE, OF COURSE.”_

_Kris smiled in agreement, and off Papyrus went, rambling so happily that Sans caught himself smiling, too. Pap had never had an audience like—_

_Crap! He couldn’t drop his guard. The kid might seem friendly and harmless, but Sans had been wrong about human intentions before; the idea of facing a malicious child still scared the hell out of him, a fear he didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore._

_Thus, while Papyrus escorted his new pal through Waterfall, Sans watched and waited, his tension steadily rising as the little human…stayed friendly and harmless. No matter what ridiculous things Papyrus said, the kid didn’t smirk, or scowl, or roll his eyes behind Pap’s back, and he never found an excuse to sneak away from the skeleton’s joyously incessant chatter. Instead, Kris_ listened _to Papyrus, only laughed when he made jokes, and let him demonstrate every single deactivated puzzle they came across, hour after hour. Not even the other monsters were this patient with him!_

 _Speaking of the other monsters, Papyrus kept accosting people at random to introduce them to Kris, and the child greeted each one as though they were…well,_ people _, even those too angry or frightened to respond_. _As expected, the rest of the humans were treating the Underground like a giant zoo, poking everything and tittering when the monsters tried to greet them, as if in disbelief that the things could talk—_

_Not Kris. He was clearly a little overwhelmed, and at first, Sans wanted to chalk it up to the kid just smiling and nodding along. But that wasn’t it: Kris spoke to each monster shyly, but with sincere interest, even kindness. At one point, to everyone’s shock, not only did he notice Shyren huddled in a corner, he crouched nearby to hum at her until she looked directly at him and smiled. Soon, there was a little crowd of curious monsters around him and Papyrus, who was beside himself with delight._

_The more he saw, the less Sans knew what to think. The kid had undoubtedly been told to behave himself in the Underground, but Sans didn’t know how a child Kris’ age could be this good for this long without getting whiny or scared—some of the monsters were literally made of teeth, but the kid never even broke a sweat! Was he too young to care, or was this some kind of elaborate trick after all? Could human magic disguise an adult as a child to get closer to the monsters? No, the kid didn’t_ feel _particularly magical, at least not at this range…_

_What really got to Sans was when Pap and Monster Kid took Kris through the long passages after the umbrella stand. Upon seeing the ogre statue huddled in the “rain,” Kris paused for a long, solemn moment; then he quietly propped his umbrella where it would shelter the stone monster from the fast-falling droplets, letting them soak him instead as he walked off._

_This was just too damn weird. Papyrus obviously wasn’t in any danger, though, so Sans didn’t bother joining them on the ferry to Snowdin; he took a shortcut instead, standing a comfortable distance back amongst the trees so he could think things over._

_When the ferry pulled up to the dock, he watched in amusement as the child bounded off and promptly faceplanted in the snow. It was easy to assume that a human would have seen more than this outside the Underground, but when Pap picked him up and asked why he was so excited, Kris explained that he spent all his time cleaning things in the kitchen. He never got to go outside, much less ride magic riverboats through a magic cave and play in magic snow!_

_That didn’t sound like a great life to Sans, who gave the child a closer once-over as they passed by. How old was he, exactly? The skeleton wasn’t familiar with human kids, but Kris was so short that Sans guessed he was about six years old…no, more like four or five. His tiny hands were knobby and callused, so he probably wasn’t lying about his work, either. Why was such a small child stuck inside scrubbing dishes all day? Didn’t human kids have schools, or parents?_

_Come to think of it, Kris had been out with Papyrus for several hours without speaking to any other humans. Whether the boy was here to spy on them or had snuck away on his own, someone should have come to collect him already, or at least sent word that a human child was missing. Had they brought a bunch of kids and lost track of one? If so, they still should have noticed by now…_

_Meanwhile, Papyrus was introducing the various ice monsters to “A REAL LIVE HUMAN,” and if anything, Kris was even kinder than before: the kid answered the shopkeeper’s questions about humans, chuckled at Snowdrake’s frankly mediocre puns, stared at Ice Cap’s hat, untangled a stubborn ribbon on Gyftrot’s lowest horn, and petted every single dog in town, all in the course of one afternoon. No matter how closely Sans watched him, there wasn’t a shred of calculation or ill intent in anything the human did—anxiety and fatigue, sure, and some very reasonable uncertainty about the whole situation, but he was mostly just determined to help everyone he met._

_So…either Kris was some kind of child prodigy in subterfuge, or he was a really_ _good person, human or not. Sans couldn’t check his SOUL at this distance, but when he weighed everything he’d seen that day, he found he didn’t need to: given the choice between “magical spy” or “nice kid,” Sans was willing to believe that Pap had found a friend after all._

 _It really wasn’t_ that _far-fetched, when he thought about it; humans weren’t necessarily born terrible, and Kris was probably young enough that no one had screwed him up yet. Maybe the adults had let him go off on his own to make a good impression for them? They might also be curious to see if the monsters would take care of him the way they had with Chara. Of course, there was the possibility of the kid falling into the river or lava or some other accident, but they obviously hadn’t been too concerned about it. In fact…_

_Sans had expected at least one human to upset him, but he hadn’t counted on any of them making him feel guilty: he’d been so busy deciding whether the kid was a threat that he hadn’t noticed any of the obvious signs of neglect. For one thing, it was almost winter outside the Underground, but the boy had no coat on, just a long-sleeved shirt; no wonder he was shivering, especially after his soaking in Waterfall. His canvas shoes were so old that the soles flapped a little when he walked, the toes almost worn through._

_He was also probably starving. Pap had been too excited to stop his tour for more than a quick snack, forgetting that monster food was less filling than what Kris was used to—assuming he_ was _used to food, Sans thought darkly. Humans didn’t get that thin from missing a couple of meals; there was no telling how often anyone bothered to feed him. But if the other humans couldn’t even pretend to give a crap about the poor kid, then why’d they bring him?_

 _Were they_ hoping _something terrible would happen so they could blame the monsters?_

_Too many questions, not enough answers. All Sans knew was that, despite himself, he gave at least a partial crap about the cold, hungry little human, especially after he’d made Papyrus so happy. Even now, Kris was listening quietly as Pap expounded upon the rich historical significance of the town Gyftmas tree and the librarby – the only one of its kind in the whole world! – while they made their way back to “SCENIC MY HOUSE!”_

_Luckily, that was the end of the tour: Papyrus was stopping to unlock their front door. By the time it banged open, Sans was back on the couch, snoring away. “BROTHER!” Papyrus marched inside, reaching down to shake him awake; Sans “accidentally” rolled off to avoid him, landing with a thump. “I SEE YOU ARE BEING AS LAZY AS EVER,” Pap scolded him. “IT IS TIME TO WAKE UP! WE HAVE A GUEST!”_

_“hm?” Sans peered upside-down at Kris, who was glancing around the living room, shoulders hunched and hands tucked into his armpits. As their eyes met, the child gulped and hurriedly took his hands down, though the house wasn’t much warmer than outside. “oh. hey, kiddo,” he said. “how are ya?”_

_“I’m fine. Thank you,” Kris answered politely, trying not to shiver._

_“NOT THAT YOU WOULD KNOW, SANS, BUT IT’S GETTING LATE,” said Papyrus. “WE HAVE HAD A WONDERFUL DAY, AND I THOUGHT PERHAPS KRIS COULD STAY HERE FOR THE NIGHT. I CAN MAKE SPAGHETTI WHILE YOU GO ASK PERMISSION FROM THE OTHER HUMANS!”_

_“not tonight, pap,” Sans replied, noting the kid’s sudden apprehension. “kris needs to get back now. you’ve had him all day—we probably shoulda let ‘em know he was here.”_

_The taller skeleton pouted. “I SUPPOSE YOU’RE RIGHT.” Just as quickly, he brightened again. “WELL, HUMAN, IT WAS DELIGHTFUL TO BECOME FRIENDS WITH YOU! PLEASE COME BACK TOMORROW FOR MORE FRIENDSHIP!”_

_Kris managed a smile, and returned Papyrus’ wave goodbye, following right away when Sans beckoned him out the door. The moment it closed behind them, Sans looked down, a little bemused to be talking to a human smaller than he was. “so, kid. whaddya think of the underground?”_

_The child hugged himself, watching snowflakes drift from the cavern ceiling. “It…” He fidgeted. “It’s beautiful. Everyone is s-so nice. I…”_

_Sans frowned as the child sniffled. “what’s wrong? nobody said anything weird to you or pap, did they?”_

_“N-No!” Kris turned wide, teary eyes up at him. They were a weird shade of brown, the skeleton thought absently. “No one said anything!” With a visible effort, the human swallowed and forced another smile. “I’m fine. Thank you,” he repeated._

_“okay, then,” Sans remarked, a little taken aback. That was the first fake thing he’d seen Kris do today—out of all the monsters he’d met, the kid wasn’t scared of_ him _, was he? “i’m just curious about a few things. got a skele-_ ton _of questions for ya.” He sat down on the front step, hoping to get some quick answers and take the kid back before it got any later, or colder. “like…what were you doin’ all by yourself? did ya get lost?”_

_“Mm-hm.” Kris drifted closer, but didn’t sit down. “We were leaving camp this morning, and it was dark out, so I walked the wrong way. I found a bunch of trees, and then I fell down a hole.” Sans lifted a brow, but allowed the child to continue, “Prince Asriel found me in the flowers, and the Queen helped me get to the Grand Hall before everyone came in the front door. They were really nice.”_

_Huh. That did sound like them. “glad you’re okay, then. did the humans bring any other kids with ‘em?”_

_"I don’t think so.” Kris shifted from foot to foot, hands creeping back up into his armpits._

_No further information seemed forthcoming. The skeleton sighed inwardly. “so why are you here, if ya don’t mind me askin’? do they want you to do anything?” he asked jovially._

_The little human shrugged. “I dunno. Ma—my nurse came to the kitchen and said we were going on a trip, and then we came here in a wagon.” His voice dropped till Sans could barely hear it: “We never go on trips.” Sniff. “She said to make friends and not bother anyone.”_

_…Huh. One last moment of doubt – a twinge of suspicion that the kid was hiding something – made Sans shift around to smile up at him. “no one told you where you were goin’, or why?” the skeleton inquired. “and when you got here, you ran right into asriel and toriel?” He stuck his hands in his pockets, his grin widening. “pretty lucky.”_

_"I…” Something in Sans’ face must have given him away: the kid shrank back until his bony shoulders hit the door. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I don’t…” He sniffled yet again, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong! Please don’t be mad! I—”_

_"hey, slow down! i’m not mad, okay? i didn’t mean anything by it,” Sans lied, and the child nodded uneasily,_ snrk _ing back a huge wad of snot. The skeleton couldn’t help grimacing. “look, you must be pretty cold. why didn’t you say somethin’ to pap?”_

_Kris blinked. “They said not to bother anyone,” he reminded Sans, very patiently._

_Son of a— “gotcha,” the skeleton muttered. “and askin’ for stuff bothers people?”_

_A short pause, as if Kris had just been asked a trick question. “Yes?” he ventured._

_“ooo-kay. well, i got news for you, kiddo.” Sans took his hands out of his pockets. “you’re in the underground now, and we don’t mind people tellin’ us they’re tired, or freezing, or hungry, or whatever. matter of fact, it bothers us if ya_ don’t _say anything.”_

_It was almost funny to see the human’s face go blank as he struggled with this revelation. He really had been taught to be invisible, hadn’t he? “It…bothers you if…I don’t bother you?” The child looked completely lost, his lip quivering. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”_

_Sans was starting to get a headache. “look. kid. i dunno what you’ve been told before. all i know is, you’re our guest, and we want our guests to be comfortable. if you need something, you gotta speak up. those are the rules down here, okay?”_

_Kris didn’t answer for a moment, but at least he seemed thoughtful now, not on the verge of tears. “…If it’s a monster rule, I guess it’s okay.” Fidget. Sniffle. “Right?”_

_“right. as a matter of fact…” Kris watched, uncomprehending, as Sans stood up, took a few steps, and jerked his head. “c’mon. this way.”_

_The little human looked fearfully over his shoulder, then back at the skeleton, who was heading away from the ferry and the path to Waterfall. “Yes, sir,” he choked out._

_Sans winced. “just ‘sans’ is fine. don’t worry, pal, i’ll take you to the castle in a couple minutes and explain where you were. i’m not giving you the_ cold _shoulder.” The skeleton winked, and Kris cracked a smile. “really,_ snow _problem. it’s been real_ ice _to meet you, and i know a couple other monsters you can_ warm up _to. i won’t_ grill _you anymore, i promise.”_

_Kris was giggling softly, his fear almost gone. “I’m sorry, but…where are we going?” he asked, voice still faint. “I don’t think my nurse knows where I am. She’s probably really mad.”_

_Not “scared,” or “worried”? Damn. And why should the kid be in trouble because some crappy human_ _let him stay lost all day?_

_Whatever. The point was, Sans wasn’t going to bring Kris back like this. They’d think the monsters had been starving and freezing him on purpose…assuming they even cared. “nah, it’ll be fine. we’ll tell ‘em you’ve been conducting interspecies diplomacy. first, let’s get some grub.”_

_An uncomfortably long pause, and then the way Kris’ eyes lit up, confirmed the worst of Sans’ suspicions. It was one thing for a hungry kid to be happy it was time to eat, but this was astonishment and almost desperate joy, like a couple of human Christmases and birthdays rolled into one. Because…food._

_Sans didn’t want to think about it any longer, so he didn’t. “c’mon, kiddo. grillby’s is this way. the owner’s not much of a talker, but he’s the_ hottest _guy you’ll ever meet.”_

_“Okay,” the kid said dutifully, and Sans smirked. Then…_

_The skeleton’s SOUL went still as Kris gave him a timid but_ real _smile, reaching up to wrap his cold little fingers around Sans’ hand. “Thank you,” he whispered._

 _The last traces of doubt evaporated from Sans’ mind. In its place, warmth spread through his bones, and he found himself clasping the child’s hand like Kris was his own kid. If the humans weren’t going to take care of the poor little guy, he vowed, then_ they _would!_

 _But even through the warm-and-fuzzies, the monster felt a stab of foreboding. This was a child, not a lost puppy. It would be stupid to get attached—humans were the_ worst _, and this one…_

_…was smiling at him so sweetly that Sans couldn’t even speak. Instead, he smiled back at the kid, weird eyes and terrible haircut and all. They stood that way for a moment, letting the snowflakes fall thickly around them, then turned and walked toward Grillby’s, hand in hand._

~

Sans was still dreaming, but now he dreamed that he was standing in his and Pap’s living room, watching the front door and feeling _very_ put-upon. He’d finally experienced Frisk for the first time and fallen asleep listening to her heartbeat, and of all the places his slumbering mind could’ve gone from there, it picked “bittersweet first meeting with starving waif”? _Seriously?_

Maybe he was giving himself some kind of not-very-subliminal guilt trip, the way he’d stopped lusting after her for a while when he found out she was Kris? But he didn’t feel guilty at all now: Kris was a kid he’d loved like a son or a littler brother, and Frisk was _not_. As far as he was concerned, they were completely different people, as discrete as his old and new selves.

No, something else was going on. When he concentrated, Sans could feel a sensation like a hand tugging on his sleeve; it was some kind of outside influence, something that had crept into his mind and made him think about the day he met Kris. But why? The boss monster glanced around, trying to find whatever it was so he could kill it and wake up, but there was no one there.

Weird. Well, whatever the influence might be, it didn’t seem malevolent, so it probably wasn’t the demon at work. What was it, then, and why was it screwing with him?

To his surprise, it answered him—not in words, but with the strong impression that it needed to show him something, or else Frisk would…something something? Sans concentrated again, trying to pin it down—

And he was suddenly back in his dream from the other night, the one with Chara sitting on Asriel’s bed and the Prince kneeling to speak to Frisk. But it wasn’t the stuff he’d already seen; it seemed to be picking up where he’d left off:

_"First, I’m afraid I have bad news,” said Asriel. “Did you hear that your Queen died having her baby?”_

_Frisk nodded, face scrunching up in distress. “They said the King is really sad.”_

_"Yes, he is, and I would never blame him for feeling that way. But it also means that he’s not being very nice, and our talks have been going badly. He’s refusing to give more than a few monsters back or properly enforce the laws against taking them. All he’s willing to do is pay us for those already enslaved and establish quotas of how many they’re allowed to keep at a time.”_

_The child’s jaw dropped. “That’s terrible!” she cried. “You’d be acting like it’s normal to treat monsters that way!”_

_"Exactly,” said the Prince. “But King Stephin sent word this morning that he’s going to let Duke Archibald take over, and to put it simply, His Grace hates us. At this rate, the negotiations will break down completely, and things will be the same as ever, or worse. They’ll say, ‘Oh, well, we_ tried _reasoning with them,’ and keep doing whatever they like.” Asriel grimaced. “My parents and I would still love to have you visit—”_

Was it Sans’ imagination, or did Chara have a _really_ nasty look on her face there?

_“—but King Stephin wouldn’t allow it. If you were here without his permission, he’d say you were kidnapped and use it as an excuse to invade the Underground.”_

_The little girl clutched at her chest, as though she couldn’t breathe. “You mean I can’t come back here ever again? But…what about Sans and Papyrus and everyone? I don’t want to leave my friends!”_

Sans’ sockets burned. How much more of this shit did he have to see?

_“I know, Frisk. We don’t want to lose you, either. We…” The Prince swallowed, glancing at his sister, who had put on a gentle, encouraging smile. “Chara and I have a plan to stop it, and we think you can help us,” Asriel said, sounding more resolute._

_“Me?” Frisk looked back and forth between the adults. “What kind of plan?” she asked doubtfully. “I don’t think I can do anything.”_

_“Yes, you can,” the boss monster said gently. “Remember how your magic protected us when the star fell off the tree?” She nodded again. “Well…”_

Sans felt sick. They’d wanted to use Frisk’s magic for some secret plan? He’d never heard of this! The poor kid looked so scared, especially when Chara sat forward on the bed…

_“Can I tell you something very important, Frisk?” she asked._

_Frisk took half a step back; Chara either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it. “Azzy and I have had a long talk about you,” the woman said earnestly. “He told me about your magic, and I told_ him _how impressed I was when you were brave enough to help Mettaton in front of everyone. It gave us an idea for something the three of us can do to keep the monsters safe.” Her lovely features were sad, but hopeful. “Now, the reason you have magic is a_ big _secret, and we’re trusting you not to tell anyone.”_

_“Yes, ma’am,” Frisk mumbled, still distrustful, looking to Asriel for reassurance._

_Chara’s smile dropped. “Frisk. We need to know whether this is important to you or not. Don’t you want to stay in the Underground with your friends?”_

_“Of course I do!” the little girl protested. “But—”_

_“But what, Frisk? Don’t you want to be happy?”_

_“I—I do, but—”_

_“You have an amazing gift, dear,” Chara continued relentlessly, “and it’s meant to protect people. Our plan won’t work if you’re going to be selfish.”_

Sans twitched. That piece of fucking—

_Asriel shifted uncomfortably as the child’s eyes welled up. “I don’t know about ‘selfish,’” he said, “but you need to promise you’ll keep this to yourself, even if you decide not to help us.”_

_Frisk shook her head so fast that she almost fell over. “I’ll help you, Asriel! I_ promise _! What is it, please? You can tell me!”_

 _Chara nodded in satisfaction. “Thank you, Frisk. Let me start at the beginning. This is about your family—your_ real _family.” She folded her hands solemnly. “Your father isn’t really dead, and Rosa isn’t your mother. She’s been fooling both of us this whole time_. _” When Frisk didn’t respond, Chara gave Asriel a meaningful, almost impatient look._

_The young boss monster sighed. He leaned forward and took hold of Frisk’s shoulders. “The truth is, Frisk, you have magic because of your father. He’s King Stephin. And…Chara is your real mother.”_

_Frisk gaped at him in shock and dawning horror. On cue, Chara slithered to the floor and held her hand out. “I’m so sorry, darling,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t expect you to forgive me for the way I’ve treated you. But…I hope we can be—”_

That was _it._ Sans tore himself away in a burst of rage and sorrow—whatever was going on, then or now, he refused to watch Chara manipulate her own goddamn child into…into _what_? He’d never forget the pain in Frisk’s voice: _“Chara abandoned me until I was useful for something besides money”…_

No, he didn’t want to know! They’d already established that Chara was a lying piece of shit, and whatever she and Asriel had tried to make Frisk do, it obviously hadn’t helped anyone! If he was being shown this crap for a reason, then whatever-the-fuck-it-was could just—

The influence was irritated now, like a teacher trying to reason with a whiny student. His attention was _yanked_ back:

_A few minutes later, Asriel was carrying Frisk out of the room, patting her back and whispering about taking as much time as she needed. Chara watched the door close behind them, expressionless. “I told you I was right to bring her,” she said._

_No one was there. But behind her, the bedsprings squeaked._

_Something snickered._

This time, it was raw terror that gave Sans the strength to free himself—he _knew_ that horrible sound. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me!” he snarled. “What the fuck was that thing doin’ there?!” He couldn’t help a short, nearly hysterical bark of laughter. “Were…were they _pals_ or somethin’? Did anyone know she had an evil imaginary friend, or was it her little secret?”

There was a long, troubled pause. Then came the impression that, having established what it wanted to discuss, the entity directing his thoughts was ready to show him much more about Chara, and Kris, _and_ the demon, putting each event in the proper context and—

“NO! Fuck you!” Sans shut his sockets tight. If his visitor thought mentioning that _thing_ would make him want to stick around for more answers, it was wrong. It felt like he’d been asleep for years, and he already wanted to hold Frisk so badly that he didn’t know what to do with himself; now his instincts were roused to protect her from Chara, the demon, or anything else that might hurt her, and he couldn’t do that in his fucking sleep! “Whatever you wanna say, just spit it out, goddammit!”

There was another pause, as if it understood his reaction and was trying to be patient. But as the skeleton grew more agitated, the entity prodded him in exasperation: it was _much_ easier to guide him like this than answer directly, if he would just pay attention for half a—

“Nope.” Sans gave a short wave. _“Bye.”_

When he opened his eyes, Asriel’s room had disappeared, and Sans was safe in his own house. But a moment later, the air started thickening around him…

To hell with this. “Okey-dokey. Let’s play a game: I’ll guess what yer point is, and then you fuck off! Ya ready?” Sans didn’t wait for a reply. “I’m guessin’ Chara was _trash_! She didn’t give a shit about _anyone_! Fuckin’ nerve, talkin’ about ‘real’ family—” His eye sockets were prickling again. “She had the best kid anyone could ask for, an’ she didn’t even care! She just threw ‘er away so she could go cry ta Mama that everyone was bein’ mean to—” Sans broke off as the atmosphere grew heavy—no, _angry_. “What? Are you sayin’ it wasn’t like that? Did she secretly have a really good reason for everythin’ that’ll make it all okay? Huh? Did that little freak make her do it?!” He glared around the room again. “C’mon! I’m waitin’!”

…No answer.

“That’s what I thought,” Sans said grimly. “Chara sucked. Mystery solved!” He slammed his hands into his pockets. “We’re _done_ here! Lemme get back ta my wife already!”

Suddenly, something creaked behind him; the giant skeleton whirled around as the front door drifted open. There was no snow outside: he caught a glimpse of dark cavern walls studded with crystals, reflecting the glow from a field of echo flowers. Then a tall figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted in soft blue light. “Yer Majesty?” Sans almost whispered.

Asriel’s hand blurred as he pushed the door open, as though he couldn’t quite stay solid. “I’m sorry. I know you have other things on your mind right now,” he said delicately. Was that a faint blush under his fur? “But I _had_ to talk to you, and you haven’t made it very easy.”

Sans scowled at him. “The hell was that?” he demanded. “Ya made me think of Kris, you showed me all that creepy, depressin’ shit—” He tapped his feet in rapid succession, one after the other. “Are you bein’ weird ‘cause I slept with Frisk? She ain’t a damn kid anymore! Have ya _seen_ her lately? Or heard ‘er?”

The Prince’s face was definitely pink. “Yes, I have, and I’m not judging you! You don’t know how happy I am that you’ve found each other! I—” He shook his head. “That’s not why I’m here now. The first time I tried to reach you didn’t work very well, so I had to wait till you were more receptive. Your magic is spent, and you’re more… _relaxed_ than usual, so—”

“I was, yeah,” the skeleton said coldly. “So why—” A terrible thought struck him. “Wait a goddamn second. How much of what goes on _can_ you see? An’ how are you even doin’ this?! Monster SOULs can’t—”

“That’s enough, Sans!” the Prince snapped. “I was trying to give you information that will help you and Frisk, but you’ve made me appear like this instead, and I can’t do it for very long! Will you please just listen to me?”

Dammit. When he thought about it for more than half a second, Sans had to admit that it’d be incredibly stupid to leave now, not to mention rude. Besides, if Frisk ever found out he’d ditched Asriel because he was too horny to pay attention, she’d snap his head off and drop-kick it into the river. “Go for it,” he mumbled.

“Thank you.” The Prince folded his arms at the waist, looking eerily like his mother. “The reason I’m here is that the thirteenth anniversary of the accident is coming up soon.” To Sans’ bemusement, Asriel’s long ears were twitching; Asgore’s did that, too, usually when he was thinking too hard. “Frisk was dreaming about it so loudly just now that it got my attention.”

“She was?” Sans didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but that wasn’t it. “Didja talk to her about it?”

The goat monster sighed. “No. I can observe her dreams, but when I try to communicate, she can’t hear me. I didn’t see much before she woke up—she hasn’t really slept since you…uh…since that.” Though he stood tall and noble in the doorway, cerulean light outlining his otherwordly form, Asriel was squirming like an embarrassed teenager – or a goat _kid_ – as he hurried on, “She’s worried about what’ll happen on the anniversary of our deaths. The humans still remember Chara fondly, and now that they know she was Frisk’s mother, they may stir things up again about how Chara was ‘murdered’ in the Underground. It could undo all of Frisk’s work toward changing humans’ perceptions of monsters.”

Sans growled to himself, remembering Chara’s table at the All Souls festival, the huge portrait and golden candles—had King Stephin thought of that when he “accidentally” showed off Frisk’s full name? Was it some kind of test of her political abilities? Or did he just not _care_? The skeleton decided not to spend the next hour giving his views on the matter, motioning instead for Asriel to continue.

“Frisk has also decided to tell everyone in the Underground who she is,” the Prince said. “She wants to use the connection to bring everyone together, but she knows it could backfire if the monsters focus on how the humans ‘stole’ us from them.” The goat monster tapped his fingers on his elbows. “It won’t work for either side unless you and Frisk know exactly what to say, and you can’t build an effective narrative if you don’t know what really happened. It’s a very long story, so I _tried_ using your memory of Kris to ease you into it. But…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sans’ mind went straight back to the sound of bedsprings creaking, that hideous little laugh— “Why the hell was that _thing_ there?” he asked, trying to ignore his SOUL’s insistence that this wasn’t Frisk and he should leave now. “Did Chara bring it with her? What did it even want?”

The Prince’s lip rose in a near-snarl. “I don’t know exactly what that creature is, only that it’s a—no, it’s worse than a parasite. It finds determined humans and feeds off their negative emotions, and it loves nothing better than to watch terrible things happen. It took the opportunity to greet you when you first met Kris, but, yes, it spent most of its time with Chara.”

Sans grunted in surprise. “I’ll be goddamned. Ya mean _that’s_ why I got so freaked out when I saw Frisk? The thing was already with ‘er?”

“Yes. It didn’t even have to show itself, just let you feel its presence.” Asriel uncrossed his arms. “As I said, it finds humans to latch onto, and it—”

“Makes ‘em do stuff?” guessed the giant skeleton.

A long pause. Asriel took a deep breath – purely for effect – and let it out slowly. “No. No, it doesn’t,” the goat monster admitted.

Sans didn’t understand until he recalled telling Frisk that the demon must have made her unleash the barrier on everyone, and her angry denial: _“It was_ me! _I did it on purpose!”_

The urge to see her and give her a protective squish was so strong that he had to massage his injured hand till the pain distracted him. “So, any horrible crap Chara got up to was her own idea?” he demanded. “Is that what yer sayin’?”

“Please, don’t—” The Prince shook his head again, ears flapping. “We could waste all night debating whether or not she was a bad person, or whether I’m right to feel like I failed her—” Sans snorted, and Asriel said sharply, “The point is that we don’t have time to argue!” He raised his hand, which had faded enough for the cavern’s light to shine through it. “Do you understand?”

Damn, that was creepy. “Fine,” snapped the giant skeleton. “The accident killed ya, the thing was there, a bunch of shit happened, an’ now Frisk’s worried. Keep g—”

He stopped cold as something else sprang to mind. She’d just told him that she’d rather have his child than be the literal Queen, then wanted to consummate their relationship, and _damn_ , had they ever…but the accident was the biggest thing on her mind now? It kind of stung to think she’d moved on that quickly. She _was_ a busy lady, but…

Asriel gave Sans a narrow look, and the latter shook himself. “Okay. Ya want us to know what really happened so we can tell everyone ‘n clear the air? Is that it?”

The dead monster grimaced. “Stars, no! Telling everyone the truth would be a _terrible_ idea. But you can’t work with information you don’t have, and making peace will be hard enough as it is. Besides…” His features softened again. “You both deserve closure. Frisk doesn’t remember everything, but she still blames herself for what happened, and that’s not fair.”

“Closure?” A chill raced up and down Sans’ spine. “For what?” Asriel looked away, and Sans growled again. “Okay, I know it’s my fault for bein’ too pissy to listen, but I’m listenin’ now! What exactly did you and Chara want Frisk ta do? What’s it got to do with the accident? ‘s not like…”

Sans trailed off, the cold intensifying as Asriel closed his eyes. Oh, fuck. No. It _couldn’t_ be— “What happened?” the skeleton demanded. “What did you do? What’d you make _her_ do?”

“I’m so sorry,” Asriel murmured. He was staring at the floor, fists clenched. “No one deserved what happened, and you’ve suffered so much—”

Sans couldn’t keep his voice down: “The fuck do you mean?! _Answer_ _me_!”

Asriel’s head snapped up. “I can’t right now! Listen—” The goat monster reached up to grasp Sans’ shoulders, but his hands passed through like wisps of smoke. “You have to talk to both of my parents before you leave the Underground,” he said urgently. “Let Mama apologize, and tell Papa it wasn’t his fault—she doesn’t have to take him back, but if they can’t present a united front to the humans, Frisk won’t be able to help at all.” Asriel glanced down: his body was almost transparent. “Tell Frisk everything that happened in the human village. Don’t worry about the conspirators. She’ll know what to do, and she can turn it to your advantage. Just stay alert and follow her lead.”

“Easy fer _you_ to say! If bein’ dead makes ya so smart, why can’t you just tell me who’s after me?” Sans pleaded. “Gimme some names! It’d take two damn seconds!”

The Prince wrinkled his muzzle. “I don’t know everything, and from what I _can_ see, it’s a very delicate situation. If you knew who was responsible, you wouldn’t be delicate at all. Let Frisk handle it. Just…be there.” Asriel’s golden eyes – his only solid feature – held Sans’ gaze for a long moment. “Don’t let anyone else take advantage of her kindness.”

Why did that feel so personal? “It’s fine. She doesn’t have a problem tellin’ people no,” Sans muttered. He couldn’t help flexing his deformed hand. “Frisk ain’t a kid anymore, remember? She’s the one takin’ care of _us_ now. She can do damn near anythin’.”

“Not on her own. And not against someone she loves.” The goat monster looked down at himself again. “Dirt! We’re out of time. We’ll have to continue this later.”

“Later? How? I—oh.” Despite himself, Sans smirked. “Ya need me to get rid of some magic an’ pass out again? Sure, I can do that any time.”

Asriel paused. “Can you?” As Sans blinked, trying to sort that one out, the Prince’s outline turned and walked onto the front steps. “I meant that you and Frisk can visit me once I’ve regained some strength, on your next trip to the Underground,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s not ideal, but…” He swept his arm out to indicate the glittering cavern. “I’ll be waiting here.”

Sans peered outside in bewilderment. “In Waterfall? Why the hell are you—”

“Ask Undyne where to look. She’s the one who scattered my dust.” Asriel was almost invisible, but Sans could make out a smile as the door started creaking shut. “I hope to see you again soon. Be sure to talk as much as you can. And _watch your magic._ ”

“Wait a sec!” Sans lurched forward and grabbed the door before it could close the rest of the way. “Yer Majesty! What am I s’posed to—”

“Thank you for listening. I’ll let you get back to your wife now.” A faint, sad chuckle. “Goodbye, Sans.” The Prince stepped down and strode off across the bright-glowing field, looking less like a monster and more an ethereal trick of the light…till he stopped so fast that he almost tripped. “Oh! Right! I almost forgot—congratulations,” he called, then kept right on going, chuckling to himself.

Somehow, the hem of his cloak was solid enough to rustle through the petals, leaving an eerie, whispering chorus in his wake: _Congratula-ratula-gratulations!_ The word tumbled down the line of blossoms in bits and pieces, not stopping till Asriel had faded from sight.

~

His wife. He _had_ called her that, hadn’t he?

~

This time, when Sans woke up, his mind felt much clearer than usual. He knew exactly where he was, and when: the trees showed as blue-black shapes through his bedroom window, meaning it was almost “daybreak,” a few hours before they had to meet everyone in the Ruins.

But he also remembered everything he’d just seen and heard—he’d never forget how the echo flowers had swayed and murmured to each other as the dead Prince passed through them. And what the hell was that about Frisk and the accident? The demon, closure, a secret plan…

It was too much to sort out on his own. Was there time to repeat it all to Frisk before they met up with their friends? He couldn’t _not_ tell her, and he didn’t intend to spring it on her in front of everyone like he had with the fucking letter.

Crap in a hat. This was already going to be a tough day, and now he’d been handed more shit to unload on her. She knew a bunch of it already, of course, but that didn’t mean it’d be easy to talk about…

No, he wouldn’t prod her to remember everything just yet, but he had to let her know Asriel was hanging around. Maybe she’d have some idea how he was doing this; she might also know what the Prince had meant when he told Sans to watch his ma—

A sound made the skeleton turn his head, and he immediately forgot about Asriel, their friends, the accident, and the echo flowers: just like that, Sans’ world shrank to a warm, bright little place where there was Frisk, and…it wasn’t that he didn’t _care_ about anything else, it just didn’t exist. There she was by the lamp, and all he could do was stare, not daring to move or breathe for fear he’d disturb her.

Technically, she wasn’t doing anything that remarkable, just kneeling with her calves splayed out and her head bent to glare at something in her lap, hair falling across her cheek. But with the soft light on her face, the way it picked out individual strands of hair as her breath stirred them—the boss monster watched, spellbound, as she reached up to scratch the corner of her mouth, then swept an errant lock of hair behind her ear, tugging absently at the lobe. He’d never really touched her ears, had he? No, just bits of magic when he needed to help with her earrings. He was always too damn big, and she was so tiny…

Regrettably, Frisk had put clothes back on, though his old stuff looked as good as ever; she kept dipping her hand beneath the hood to scratch her neck. Whatever she was writing must be really bugging her, judging by her frown. Was she going to—

Ha! Yep, there she went, raising the pen to click it against her teeth, as she often did when annoyed with the written word. He _loved_ it when she did that: not only was there some lip movement involved, it always fascinated him to get a glimpse of her skeleton. All her other bones were buried under layers of soft, nice-smelling flesh, and he was more than okay with that; it just made it all the more interesting to see her chew the end of the pen, then bite down, return both hands to the notepad, and swing the pen back and forth with her tongue as she scowled at the page. It was a hilarious but weirdly sexy habit, one he enjoyed so much that he’d overcome the urge to tease her about it and embarrass her into stopping.

…Crap. Sans knew distantly that he wasn’t supposed to spend the entire morning watching his mate do absolutely nothing, but it wasn’t his fault that every non-thing she did was amazing. Even the way she wrinkled her nose and huffed at the notepad was cute as hell, though he did wonder what was bothering her. Was she okay? Could he kill something to make it better?

In his adoring stupor, Sans barely noticed how his shirt was bunching and stretching till he tried to lean sideways for a better view and it almost pulled itself off his shoulder. Right, he’d fallen asleep at a different size; it’d probably gotten twisted around as he re-grew into it.

The skeleton wasn’t in the mood for weird magical problems, though he hoped he’d returned to his normal, huge self slowly enough for Frisk to push him off. He grumpily sat up enough to tug the shirt back into place, then settle back down alongside the mattress. Now, where were they?

But the spell had been broken: Frisk looked up from her notes, plucking the pen from between her teeth and almost dropping it. Sans wanted to tell her to keep going, never mind him…only for the words to dry up as he spotted his old white shirt on the floor.

Sure enough, now that she was turned toward him, her bare shoulder and collarbone were peeking out where she hadn’t zipped the jacket all the way up. Sans swallowed audibly, the orange light of his sockets flaring up as she shifted to sit cross-legged and tucked her feet in. On impulse, the boss monster turned his head toward the mattress and inhaled deeply. Yep: there were all the different scents they’d left on his coat last night, each more evocative than the last. He’d never washed any of his new clothes, had he?

He inhaled again, and the warmth he’d enjoyed from basking in her presence rose rapidly to a scorching heat at the memory of her sitting in his lap—pressing into him and tugging on his ribs, or stretched out with her hands pinned and begging him to let go…how she’d drawn him in and _latched_ on, those sounds she’d made still echoing in his skull, thrumming in his bones—he’d thought he was hurting her, but she’d just squeezed tighter, and she hadn’t let him stop until—

Frisk met his eye for only a moment before she ducked her head, the entirety of which was beet-red. “Good morning,” she mumbled at the notepad, scratching her neck again.

Morning! That was cute. So was her neck. …More than cute, as he knew from experience. And that reminded him: in his haste to get his magic where it wanted to be, he’d bypassed several parts of her body, not just her ears. Welp, no time like the present—should he take the romantic approach and lean over to scoop her up, or use magic to get her on the mattress quicker? She didn’t have to take the jacket off this time; in fact—

“Starry night, speck of white—”

Sans froze again as the words drifted over him, the softest, most delicate bit of song he’d ever heard. The music felt like a hand stroking his head, trailing gently down his spine, cooling his magic and turning his bones into putty.

“Would you know you’re made of light…”

How did she do that? Sure, there was actual magic in it, but the sound itself was so beautiful that he could hardly stand it.

“…if you weren’t born into the dark?”

Silence settled so gently yet heavily that he found his sockets drooping shut. “Tha’s cheatin’,” he mumbled, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. “If ya don’t wanna do it again, just use yer words. Don’ hafta knock me out.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” she murmured, scribbling on the notepad.

He made a disagreeable sound. “Damn straight. If you say no, then that’s a no. ‘s just…” Sans trailed off, unsure how to explain that it was fine for her to decide what she did or didn’t do, but he did resent how quickly she’d checked “carnal relations” off her to-do list. It might not be the most fair or mature sentiment, considering all the work she – they – had to do and everything that was at stake, but with no Asriel to distract him, he couldn’t help feeling hurt. Was it _that_ selfish to want her to himself for a few more minutes? “I dunno,” he muttered.

Frisk paused mid-scribble to frown at him. “Sans?” To his dismay and gratification, she set down her writing tools and scooted closer; with her sitting up and him on his side, their eyes were almost level. “Are you all right?”

The boss monster didn’t answer, just unconsciously reached out. She took his hand the way she always did, all of her fingers grasping one of his; this time, though, she pulled his hand closer and pressed the back of it to her sternum, letting him feel her warmth beneath the blue jacket. Her heart thundered throughout the bones of his hand and along his lower arm, her fingertips tracing his metacarpals. “Talk to me,” she murmured.

Sans had to stay very, _very_ still for a minute. She’d made it clear that she didn’t want to do it again yet, and he’d rather gnaw his own limbs off than give her any reason to distrust him—he wasn’t some shitty, selfish human, assuming that one time with her meant he was entitled to as much as he wanted. He had to keep this firmly in mind as Frisk moved close enough for him to catch a whiff of her hair, the vanilla smell digging straight through his memory to the minute or so – it couldn’t have been longer than that – where he’d had his face pressed to the mattress near her shoulder, every fiber of his being completely lost in her, love and disbelief and pleasure and then the most perfect moment of his entire life, when he’d almost asked her—

No, he wasn’t going to bring that up again till he was good and ready. “Nah, ‘s not that important. We can talk about it later,” he said casually. “‘Sides, you’re doin’ something else already.” His eyes flicked to the notepad. Unsurprisingly, it was a list: Undyne, Papyrus, Toriel, Alphys…Gerson, Muffet, Mettaton, each of the monsters they’d brought back…and Asgore.

Hm. Her handwriting was usually easy to read, but this stuff looked like it’d been scribbled down with her eyes closed. He had to guess at several of the names, and the few other words he could read made no damn sense, stuff like _Ks A &S lic? _and _FILE PLANS ASAP_. “This doesn’t make any damn sense,” he informed her. “What is it, anyway? The people we gotta see before we leave?”

Frisk studied him for a moment, clearly uninterested in his attempt to change the subject. Then, to his surprise, her lips quirked. “I guess you don’t remember the rules.”

“Eh?” That sounded vaguely familiar, but his thoughts were so crowded that there was no room to go looking for it. “What rules?”

The priestess gave him a beautiful, tremulous smile, and suddenly pitched her voice down with a rough edge: _“if you need something, you gotta speak up. those are the rules down here.”_ Her hands tightened on his, her heart somehow speeding up further. “Remember?”

Sans half-smiled back, his SOUL clamoring for him to grab her again. Instead, his fingers closed lightly around hers, the size difference even more pronounced than the first time he’d taken Kris’ hand. How did she know that he’d just dreamed about that? It was so strange to think of them now: the small, stealthy Sans who had tailed his brother through the Underground to keep him safe from their tiny human visitor, and then tried to convince the frightened, mistreated child that someone did care about him; the disguised girl who was now the monsters’ only hope for a real future…

He couldn’t speak. Frisk’s hand rose to stroke his cheekbone, her eyes curious and a little sad. “What’s wrong, love?”

And just like that, with one word, his doubts and resentment vanished like water droplets on a hot stove. Before either of them knew what was happening, he’d sat up to enfold her in his huge arms, nearly crushing her against him in sheer, reckless emotion. His instinctive caution was the only thing that prevented him from squeezing her too hard; he had to settle for corralling her as tightly as he could, nudging her feet closer and directing her hands to rest on his ribs.

Frisk made no objection to being trapped, rubbing her cheek into his shirt and melting the remaining non-liquid bits of his SOUL. “I won’t force you to say anything yet if you don’t want to,” she murmured. “But if there’s something bothering y—”

“Marry me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Brought to you by "thousands of words in my dump file that didn't quite work out, or would require them to talk for another 5k straight, or both"--if you're wondering why something didn't get addressed, don't worry! It has been! You just can't see it yet :|
> 
> 2\. Yes, they have Lindsey Stirling in their world, thank you
> 
> 3\. Don't believe me when I say that things are starting to wind down, or that I should update again soon...we all know me pretty well by now
> 
> 4\. Whew! Things are finally starting to wind down. :) Will update again soon!


	20. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two words: "ice storm." We're fine, but damn.
> 
> Not as long as usual, written mostly with Valentine's in mind. No smut this time, sorry!

_The first time someone asked Frisk to marry him, she thought it was a prank._

_For one thing, she was only fourteen years old. For another, she had never even heard of him! And—_

_“What’s that?” someone asked, noting her scrunched-up nose. “A love letter?”_

_The other girls tittered dutifully, but didn’t pay much heed: everyone in the dormitory was busy looking through her own mail. Nobody would have given it a second thought if Mathilda hadn’t reached over and plucked the letter from her hands; ignoring Frisk’s protests, the older girl scanned the elegantly written lines and scoffed under her breath. “Lord help us,” she said, just quiet enough to make their classmates look up. “I hope you tell him to eat dirt!”_

_Frisk flushed. “Why would anyone do this?” she demanded, accepting the letter back and folding it up. “Does he just have too much time on his hands?”_

_Her friend looked blank, then tried to cover a snort. “Oh, for—do you honestly believe this is some sort of joke? Lord Gray isn’t stupid enough to insult you or your father like that!”_

_Now they had everyone’s attention. Mathilda glanced around, biting her lip. “We’ll be right back,” she announced, taking Frisk’s elbow and pulling her out of the room._

_The moment the door closed, Frisk balled up the letter and threw it on the stone floor. “I’ve never even_ seen _him!” she cried. “What is he_ thinking _?!”_

 _“Only of himself,” Mathilda said sourly. She released Frisk’s arm and stooped to retrieve the crumpled paper. “That arrogant, tiny-minded, cradle-robbing_ pig _! Does he honestly believe you’re going to throw yourself at the first idiot in line to proposition you, much less someone who barely qualifies as nobility?! The_ things _I would say if I had him here!”_

_Frisk couldn’t help smiling. The other girls always liked to say how they’d tell someone off given the chance, but Mathilda was the only one who would actually do it. “Is this normal when you’re courting?” Frisk asked warily._

_“God, no! It’s_ incredibly _presumptuous! No one should ask you to wed him sight unseen until you’re the age of majority. Even then, the proper etiquette is to introduce himself in person, get to know you a little, ascertain that his attentions are welcome, and_ then _make his intentions clear to you and your parents.” Her friend snorted again in sheer wrath. “Asking you to betroth yourself when you’re nowhere near sixteen, pretending he’s being considerate by asking you first—His Lordship is hoping you’ll be so flattered that you’ll convince your father to approve the match. I wouldn’t wonder if he’s after a dowry, either, never mind your inheritance. As if His Majesty would ever allow you to wed such a penniless, scavenging_ nobody _! The very_ idea _—he would laugh himself_ sick _!”_

_Frisk forced a laugh, trying to play along. “And then kill him?”_

_Mathilda chuckled, an almost predatory sound. “Oh, no, dearest. Not if I got to him first.” She tossed the crumpled letter to Frisk, then turned to the door. “Come along. Don’t worry, I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to,” she added._

_As always, Frisk smiled and nodded, trailing after her friend. She didn’t like it when Mathilda talked about hurting people like that – this wasn’t the first time, and it never sounded like she was joking – but it wasn’t worth fighting over._

_Besides, she had bigger concerns: she couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at the idea of someone already asking for her hand. Even if it was in the worst way possible, and only because she was her father’s daughter, this was still the first somewhat-romantic thing that had ever happened to her! She didn’t want to get married right away, but if she ever did…well, she’d already gotten one proposal, and she wasn’t even fifteen yet! If this kept up, then one day, she’d have her pick of anyone she wanted!_

_…though she hoped at least one of them would want_ her, _not just a connection to the throne. Surely, among the however-many men who’d ask her to marry them, there would be at least a few who really loved her? She’d have to careful to pick just the right one._

 _But as the years passed and more requests began trickling in, the novelty of being sought after began to fade; by the time she was sixteen, she dreaded getting mail, knowing every delivery meant another hour of writing polite rejections. It would have helped if she ever saw any_ _that interested her, but they were too similar: without fail, every one started with an elaborate greeting, repeated some dreck about her reputed grace and beauty, and requested the priceless opportunity to know her better, with a none-too-subtle list of qualifications to eventually marry her. Few of them were stupid enough to come right out and ask – at least not at first – and only the most idiotic ever said anything about money, but after a while, even the most polite and tasteful messages sounded like they were pursuing a job opportunity, not a wife._

 _Objectively, Frisk understood that this process was a very sensible way to establish, if not a relationship, then at least some familiarity with men she couldn’t very well meet while she was living at St. Brigid’s; honestly, rereading some of the better ones, she probably could have been fairly happy with at least some of them. But she still felt the same discomfort, bordering on disgust—why would she be tempted by fame, riches, good manners, or noble bloodlines offered in exchange for_ what _she was, not_ who _she was?_

 _At least her friends gradually stopped teasing her about making her suitors fight to the death or build her a castle of gold and pink diamonds for the wedding: Mathilda scolded them until they agreed that it was_ not _flattering to get notes and letters and flowery ten-page missives that all sounded like they could’ve been written by the same person. In fact, their favorite game was to swipe a bottle of wine from the pantry, read the letters aloud, and take a drink every time it said “humble,” “honor,” “adoration,” or any words with more than five syllables._

 _And she lost even that small amusement once she became High Priestess and moved away from her classmates. As her friend had prophesied, the moment she legally turned twenty-one, the stream of letters became a torrent, as though the entire kingdom had been waiting. Soon, she had stopped answering any and started throwing them into random baskets, telling herself she didn’t have the time or energy to pick anyone, much less the exact right person. Honestly, by that point, she wasn’t at all sure there_ was _a right person._

Now, at nearly twenty-three years old, Frisk thought about her very first marriage proposal, the literal hundreds she’d had since then, and all two of the words Sans had just said. Yet another person was asking her to be his wife, this one a monster made of bone and tainted magic, with enormous fangs, a foul temper and human blood on his hands – an aberration among his own kind – with nothing to offer but a cold, strange-smelling little room hundreds of feet below the ground…

She couldn’t believe he was stupid enough to even ask.

Didn’t he realize she’d already picked him?

The moment the words left his mouth, Sans had frozen, his hand trembling on her head and upper back. Frisk could sense his surprise at himself, then mortification…but he couldn’t bring himself to shrug it off or take it back. The poor skeleton just sat there, shaking.

Warmth flooded through her until she could hardly stand still. In her haste to reassure him, the human blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “I already did, you bonehead.”

His huge frame twitched. “You…what?”

Frisk smoothed out a wrinkle in his shirt. It was hard to tell if he was sharing his emotions on purpose, or if she was just more attuned to him now, with his magic still singing through her veins and his feelings running painfully high; either way, she had to take a deep, shaky breath before she turned to look over her shoulder. “Here. I—”

Sans made an urgent sound and clutched her tighter. Frisk paused, resisting the urge to throw her arms around his neck, and contented herself with resting her hand on his knuckle. “I’m not trying to get away, Sans,” she murmured. “I just want to show you what I’ve been writing. Can you please bring my notes over here?”

He blinked, as if getting ahold of himself, then lifted the notepad with a speck of magic, holding it up at eye level. “Yeah?” he grunted.

The skeleton sounded cranky and noncommittal, but his thumb was unconsciously stroking the back of her hand, which was _very_ distracting. “Um—” Frisk coughed. “See the part where I mentioned filing plans? That’s for the farm on the river. I’d like for us to live there once the sale goes through, but we’ll have to renovate the house to fit you.” He started again, and she barreled on, “It’ll be quite a project, so we’ll have to find the current plans, figure out what we want to do with it, and get the work started as soon as we can. I’ll let my real estate agent handle it, but it’ll take a lot of time.”

She couldn’t see Sans’ face, but the hum of his magic had picked up speed, both inside her and through his SOUL against her sternum; her heart sped up in reply. No, she had to focus—what else did she need to tell him? “See here, ‘Ks A&S lic’?” The human tried to free enough of her arm to point at the margins, only for Sans to intercept it and tuck her back against him. Frisk sighed, but couldn’t help nuzzling him again. “I want to approach Asgore and Stephin about getting a marriage license,” she said into his shoulder.

Sans inhaled sharply, and Frisk didn’t need magic to tell what he meant. “Yes, seriously,” she retorted. “As far as I’m concerned, Sans, _I_ proposed to _you_ , and I don’t want to live in sin any longer than necessary.” She poked his clavicle. “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life sneaking around with you and our child like you’re some kind of shameful s—”

“Don’t—” His voice came out higher and shakier than she’d ever heard it before. Frisk fell silent, allowing him to gather his thoughts and try again: “I-I don’…I know yer pro’ly sick of me sayin’ I’m no good, but…” His grip was getting painful, and her senses reeled as his emotions rose higher and higher. “I… _Frisk_ —”

“Sans.” Frisk reached up to touch his jawbone; she couldn’t help laughing as he rested his forefinger on her hand. He was so _big_! “I love you. All right?”

If he had been holding her close before, she was now squashed absolutely flat against him as a great shudder ran through him, almost a sob. Either he couldn’t speak, or didn’t know what to say—it didn’t matter which.

Frisk was trembling, too. It was difficult enough to think straight when he was squeezing her like this, never mind the tumult of love and raw need coursing through both of them, so overpowering that her knees almost buckled. Suddenly, her hands wanted nothing more than to slide down his ribs and ease into the spaces between to give a few little tugs; maybe she should nip at him again, the same way she’d urged him on last night?

But something else nagged at her and kept her still, a reminder that that would be a _very_ bad idea. She’d stopped him a few minutes ago for a very good reason…what was it again?

Now that she was paying attention, the human could feel another, much more tangible sensation as she shifted against him. Right, she thought, wincing. Of _course_ she hadn’t completely fixed it. She’d been so proud of herself, too…

She must have made some kind of noise, or maybe the emotional connection went both ways, because Sans abruptly released her. Frisk found herself nudged back a step, one hand steadying her as the other moved the hood of her jacket aside.

Groaning inwardly, Frisk allowed him to lean in and glare at her neck. “I didn’t get all of them, did I?” she said ruefully, rubbing the skin beneath her ear, where there were probably still some bruises and/or tooth marks. “I thought I’d finally figured out how to heal myself, but I don’t think I used enough of your magic.”

Sans didn’t respond. Even without being up against him, she felt his uneasiness deepen as he kept staring. That wasn’t the worst of it, either…

Sure enough, his eyes slid downward, and his face went blank with alarm. “It’s fine,” she said quickly, pushing his hand away. “I just—”

“How bad was it?” he almost whispered.

Frisk pressed her lips together. “Sans. Look at me.” When he kept his gaze on her midsection, the human ducked under his head and grabbed his jaw with both hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You did _nothing_ wrong,” she snapped. “It’s completely normal for human women to be a little—”

“Normal, my ass!” He pulled back, both of them grimacing at the loss of contact. “Human women don’t do it with guys made of nothin’ but goddamn _bones_! How bad did I mash you up?!”

“It doesn’t matter, Sans!” she snapped. “You tried to slow down, and I wouldn’t let you! If I hadn’t been so damn stubborn—”

He growled so deeply that it rumbled through the floor, tingling the bottoms of her feet. She closed her eyes, braced herself for more argument…and…

Nothing. Frisk cracked one eye open to find him staring at her, taking in her defensive posture, head ducked and hands gripping her sleeves. Sans screwed his eyes shut, too, then exhaled hugely. After a small eternity, his sockets opened again, and he held his hand out. “C’mere,” he said gently.

Frisk swallowed, letting him tug her back against him. To her intense relief, the storm of his emotions had died down to a little murmur of concern; he must have closed himself off to keep from distressing her further. “Don’t do that again,” he muttered, angry and tender. “I know it’s hard to quit bein’ scared of stuff, but don’t _ever_ think I’m gonna get pissed off and leave if ya say no to me!” His phalanges moved softly through her hair. “I don’ want my mate feelin’ like she has to put up with any crap.”

The priestess balled up his shirt to hide her face in it—as though he couldn’t tell she was trying not to cry. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I could’ve handled it much worse,” Frisk mumbled. “We should’ve taken it slower, I didn’t give you a chance to adjust anything…” Why was she still so embarrassed? Was it because he was right about her rushing things out of some lingering fear she’d lose him?

The boss monster tapped her head impatiently. “Quit blamin’ yerself for everything. I was there, too, remember? It’s not like either of us has any experience with this stuff. An’ nobody’s got any experience with a skeleton _bonin’_ a human.”

She nodded slowly, one corner of her mouth lifting. “Very true.” Frisk sighed, eyes closing as he played with the ends of her hair. “All right. From now on, I’ll try to communicate instead of getting carried away. I promise.”

The boss monster gave a melancholy sigh. “An’ I’ll do my best not to go at ya like I’m tenderizin’ meat.”

Frisk _snrk_ ed so hard that she almost choked. “Sans!”

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding remotely apologetic. “Here—” His hand slid to her lower back. Frisk caught a glimpse of emerald light in her peripheral vision, and sighed contentedly as the last of the pain ebbed away. “Lemme know if you ever need it again. …But we pro’ly shouldn’t count on doin’ whatever and then just fixin’ it up every time, huh?”

Frisk shook her head. “No, that’s probably not a good idea. We might need to use it while we’re, er, gaining experience, but—”

“Buuut in the meantime, I’ll try to go easy on ya.” His bones had grown warm again. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

They were quiet for a few moments. Frisk felt much more at ease now, but Sans did not: despite his best efforts, she could sense him getting worked up again. As far as she could tell, he still felt guilty, and thus protective, which led naturally into other things—he wanted to lie down and snuggle with her on the mattress, but it smelled too suggestive to trust himself.

Far from being suggestive to Frisk, it made her think of how he’d sniffed at it a minute ago. She tried not to cringe, knowing it wouldn’t be the first _or_ last thing they had to talk ab—

Her chest was tingling, feeling more stuck to his than ever; a moment later, the boss monster grunted again. “What? I’m not s’posed to like that stuff?” he asked grumpily.

The human wished she could sink into the floor. So he could tell what she was thinking, too—but to what extent? For how long? And was it always going to happen after they slept together? However much she loved him, that didn’t mean she wanted him seeing inside her head! “You can like it all you want,” she said stiffly, “but humans consider it inappropriate to enjoy it _that_ much. It’s a bit disturbing.”

Sans scowled. He could see what she meant, but to him, it seemed almost like a trap, not to mention hypocritical—hadn’t she left all kind of smells on there while he was out?

Ugh. That was a fair point. It was no excuse that there was no other place in the house for her to conduct those activities—like hell she was going to do it on the couch, and she’d learned a long time ago that the tub was _not_ ideal for that kind of thing…

…And he was getting aroused again. “Sorry,” Frisk said hastily, trying to pull her mind out of the gutter. “Going back to what we discussed, Sans: even if you do get carried away, I’m absolutely serious about not blaming yourself. You’ve had to make _sizable_ accommodations for me already.”

He chuckled and trailed a phalange over her scalp, only to find a tangle and hurriedly withdraw. “Whoops. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s fine,” she said, wondering when she’d last brushed her hair.

Sans obligingly turned and retrieved her satchel, opening the flap for her to pull out one of the dozen hairbrushes Mettaton had given her. Frisk leaned back, turned her head, and began working on the biggest tangle while Sans reached behind them. “Glad ya figured out I could do that,” he commented, retrieving his pants. To Frisk’s fond amusement, he was loathe to move away from her long enough to put them on. “Woulda taken way too long ta try it on my own.”

Frisk paused mid-pull. “I…” She felt her entire head grow hot again. Might as well admit it before he saw what she was thinking: “I wasn’t talking about your whole body. I. …Um.”

Sans sat still for a moment too long; to her chagrin, the bone around his mouth twitched. “Wait a sec.” Twitch. “You mean ya weren’t thinkin’ of all’a me, just…” Twitch twitch twitch. “Just that?”

The human ducked her head again as the boss monster’s shoulders began shaking. “That seemed like the most important part,” she mumbled.

He gave a mighty “Pfffft!” and slapped his femur. “Are ya _serious_? You—” Sans couldn’t keep his voice steady. “Were we just gonna have me like this ‘cept a—a little human-size winky floppin’ around?!”

“W—” Frisk was so indignant that she could barely speak. “Where did you hear that word?! Monsters don’t even _have_ them!” She shook her head, biting her inner cheeks as Sans broke into full-on cackling. “No, it doesn’t matter! What matters is that you have lost the right to argue with me ever again! If I say the sky is green, and you say no, _I’ll_ say, ‘Your opinion is invalid, Sans the skeleton, because y-you once…you called it—”

It was no good: she couldn’t talk anymore. And when she started to recover, she made the mistake of glancing up at Sans, who also seemed to have calmed down…till he raised his hand and wiggled his little finger at her.

It took several minutes before they were both back to normal; Sans finally shifted her aside to pull his pants back on, then sat up with his arms folded around her once more. “So,” he said into her half-brushed hair. “What’s our next move?”

The priestess paused, her smile fading. “Well…before we do anything else, we have to make sure everyone is all right after what I did.” She tapped the brush on the side of her head. “Then—”

“I already told ya, it’ll be fine,” he reproved her. “We’ve just got a lotta crap to talk over.” Snort. “If Tori hasn’t figured out who my mystery lady is by now, then…”

Frisk managed a smile. “I think it’s probably occurred to her,” she said dryly.

“Damn straight.” Sans gave another huge sigh. “Like I said. ‘s gonna be okay.”

That was debatable, she thought as she worked through a knot, shooing away his attempts to keep playing with her hair. Just because she was determined to see this through, that didn’t mean she wasn’t apprehensive about it. Grandiose declarations of love and defiance of societal conventions aside, she had to figure out what to actually say to everyone. What would her father do when she asked him to recognize her marriage to a monster? How would she explain it to Mathilda, who was _not_ likely to understand why she’d chosen a gigantic skeleton for a husband? Of course, she didn’t owe them anything, but she could only burn so many bridges before she lost the influence she needed to help the monsters.

And speaking of which, they also had to convince Asgore that her union with Sans was no threat to him or his people. Was the King so embittered that he would refuse to listen at all, even after the gifts and the monsters she’d returned safely? Would he attack her on sight, or banish them from the Underground? After the way things had gone with Toriel—

Frisk’s eyes burned as her heart squeezed again. Had she put on a big enough display to convince Toriel that she was telling the truth about Chara? Maybe it didn’t matter anymore, not after seeing exactly what her human granddaughter was capable of…

The priestess didn’t realize she was crying till a massive finger brushed her cheek. “Hey. How many times do I hafta say it? We’re gonna be fine,” Sans reminded her. “Okay?”

Frisk mumbled something vaguely contrary, and the skeleton snorted. “Okay, then.” Sans gave her a handful of shirt to dry her eyes, then shifted to look at the clock. “Damn. We’d better get goin’ in a little bit. Maybe ‘bout a half hour?” He scratched his cheekbone. “Got some more stuff to tell ya ‘fore we see everybody. I…” His knuckle trailed up and down her back, so light that she barely felt it. “I talked to somebody else about…us, an’ all of this.”

She sniffled again in puzzlement; the only emotion she felt from him now was deep apprehension, as though he had to confess something. What on earth could he possibly be hiding at this point? “You talked to another monster about us being together? _Who?_ And when?” Despite herself, Frisk thought again of her friends at St. Brigid’s teasing her about getting married in a castle made of diamonds, and chuckled. “I hope they had something nice to say about it.”

Sans was quiet. Then: “Yeah, actually. ‘Congratulations.’ …That’s what Asriel said.”

~

“Dammit, Pap! Will you _please_ sit down?”

“NO, I AM AFRAID I CANNOT! …WELL.” Papyrus folded his arms. “THERE IS NOTHING THE GREAT PAPYRUS CANNOT DO PERFECTLY! BUT SITTING DOWN MEANS I WILL NOT BE STANDING HERE TO GREET THEM WHEN THEY ARRIVE. THAT WOULD BE RUDE, AND I WILL NOT DO IT! PERFECTLY!”

“What’s _rude_ is you driving me nuts going back and forth like that!” Undyne grabbed her friend’s bony forearm and plunked him onto the nearest dining-room chair. “Now stay there!”

The skeleton fidgeted in his seat. “BUT…”

“But nothing! They’ll get here when they get here.” The Royal Guard Captain rapped the table with her scaly knuckles. “Seriously, Pap. You’ve gotta learn to be patient! Just stay calm and they’ll—”

They both felt a burst of magic outside: Undyne leapt out of her chair, fumbling at the lock and ripping the door open. “Hey!” she bellowed. Papyrus scrambled after her as the fish monster stalked down the steps. “Where is she?” the Captain snarled, advancing on Sans.

The boss monster growled at her, his eyes flaming, and Undyne stopped short. “Sorry,” she said carefully, motioning behind her for Papyrus to stay back. “I mean, is Frisk with you?”

From behind Sans came a small, almost timid “Yes.” The human eased out from under his enormous black coat, wrapping her fingers around Sans’ thumb; she probably looked silly, like a scared little girl, but she didn’t care. Besides, Sans had warned her that he was going to be touchy about other monsters approaching her, and this would help keep him calm.

“Frisk!” With a quick glance at Sans for permission, the fish monster stepped forward to lightly grasp her shoulders. “Are you okay? Did you get enough rest?” Undyne demanded.

“I’m fine,” Frisk assured her, patting her friend’s smooth-scaled arm. “Are you—” She swallowed hard, gripping Sans’ hand. “Undyne, I—I am _so_ sorry for…”

The Captain’s arms dropped. “What, for doing that huge spell and almost frying us?”

The human flinched, and Sans’ eyes flared again. “ _Watch_ it,” he snarled.

Undyne flapped a hand at him. “Don’t give me the big scary act, boss! You think I’m mad at her?” She glared up at Sans, then smiled at Frisk, more gentle than the human had ever seen her. “ _I’m_ the one who’s sorry. You got that? I should’ve kept my trap shut when I saw your name on that dumb letter, and I shouldn’t have acted like you were gonna eat us once you snapped out of it. It was my fault you went nuts.”

Frisk smiled weakly in relief. “That’s not true. You were completely right to—”

“See?” Sans said triumphantly, leaning down to nudge her shoulder. “What did I tell ya? Big damn fight over who’s the most sorry. Eh? Eh?”

“Yes, dear,” Frisk said tartly, enjoying his now-red face, and looked around Undyne. “Hello, Papyrus. Have you heard any of what—”

“HUMAN!” The younger skeleton waved vigorously at her, allowing Undyne to keep him a polite distance away; Sans _probably_ wouldn’t hurt his brother, but as Frisk understood things, it was best to stay cautious around a newly mated boss monster. “YOU LOOK WELL! FROM WHAT MY BROTHER SAID YESTERDAY, I WAS AFRAID THERE WAS CAUSE FOR CONCERN! BUT I SEE…THAT…”

Frisk cocked her head as the skeleton faltered, his sockets fixed on her chest. She wondered for a moment if he was ogling her, but no, that wasn’t like him; besides, Undyne was doing it too, both of them growing wide-eyed as the silence stretched out. “Um—”

The other monsters’ heads jerked up to stare at Sans, who was smirking so widely that his face almost split apart. Then they looked at Frisk, and back at Sans, and at each other—then gave a perfectly harmonized “Aaaaaaaugh!” of pure joy. “I can’t believe it!” Undyne exclaimed. She made as if to give Sans a congratulatory punch in the ribs, thought better of it, and seized Papyrus instead in a gleeful headlock. “Can you believe it, Pap?!”

“NO, I CANNOT BELIEVE IT!” Papyrus gushed from beneath his friend’s arm. “I AM SO VERY HAPPY FOR BOTH OF YOU! I AM ALSO VERY GLAD THAT WE LEFT YOU ALONE FOR THE ENTIRE DAY! THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS NOT ENTIRELY CERTAIN HOW LONG MATING TAKES FOR BOSS MONSTERS, BUT YOU CLEARLY MADE GOOD USE OF THE TIME YOU HAD!”

“Papyrus!” squeaked Frisk.

“What? It’s totally true!” Undyne swung the younger skeleton around for emphasis. “You waited till she was feeling okay, right, boss?” she added warningly.

“A’course,” Sans snapped. “Hell, it was her idea.”

“Sans!” Frisk protested.

“Good!” Undyne leered at Frisk, not quite poking a finger at her chest. “What’s that face for? You think we can’t smell his magic all over you?”

Frisk was grinning, too, but her face was so stiff and hot that it almost hurt. “Undyne!”

“Pfft! Don’t be such a human!” The Royal Guard Captain released Papyrus and made a show of sniffing her hands. “See? I just touched you for a second, and it’s all over _me_ now! I’ve gotta take a bath later!”

“YOU ALSO HAVE A HUGE QUANTITY OF MAGIC IN YOU!” Papyrus added helpfully, tapping his sternum. “INDEED, YOU HAVE MORE OF MY BROTHER’S MAGIC THAN YOUR OWN!” His sockets widened again. “OH, MY—THAT’S RIGHT!” He squinted around them, searching along the walls and floor and then ceiling. “WHERE IS IT?!”

“Hey, yeah!” Undyne hurried to look behind and beneath them, scowling as though she’d been cheated. “What?! C’mon, don’t tell me you gave her _that_ much and there’s no…oh.” The fish monster’s face fell. “Aw, damn, that’s right! It’s not here yet. Humans are no fun!”

“What is she talking about?” Frisk pleaded up at her mate. “I don’t—”

It hit her so hard that Undyne laughed out loud at her expression. “Yeah, that was our fault,” the Captain said. “We forgot you guys don’t make kids as fast as we do.”

“HMPH,” Papyrus said in obvious disappointment. “HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE BEFORE I AM THE GREAT UNCLE PAPYRUS?”

Frisk had completely forgotten that when monsters went off to mate, they came back with a baby in tow. “Usually, it’s a little over nine months,” she said, to groans of exasperation. Sans reached over with his other hand to stroke her hair, and she squeezed his hand again. “There’s no telling what’ll happen here, though,” she admitted. “And given the timing, biologically speaking, it probably hasn’t happened y—”

Sans’ hand twitched. Frisk had a sudden, crystal-clear mental image: the brothers’ house, with Asriel standing on the threshold, and then disappearing into the echo flowers…

When he was telling her about it, Sans had figured Asriel was congratulating them on their relationship, and Frisk had been inclined to agree. But the Prince knew humans fairly well, and when humans congratulated a mated couple, they usually meant—

The human looked up at the boss monster.

The boss monster looked down at the human. “Huh,” he said.

Undyne was examining Frisk’s midsection. “I dunno. Looks like a hell of a lot of magic to me.” She gave Frisk an approving nod. “I guess you really can handle it.”

“SPLENDID!” crowed Papyrus. “WE WILL BE READY THE MOMENT HE ARRIVES, NO MATTER HOW MANY YEARS IT MAY TAKE!”

“Or she,” Undyne said promptly. She and Papyrus exchanged looks, then both turned to Frisk. “Mind if I ask what you’re going for?” the Captain inquired.

Still preoccupied with thoughts of Asriel, Frisk was at a loss until Sans muttered, “Probably want it to look human.” He shuffled his huge slippers. “And pretty.”

Right: monsters had some ability to choose what their offspring would be like. Frisk jiggled his hand impatiently. “There’s nothing wrong with looking like a monster,” she rebuked him. “Some of us _like_ skeletons, remember?”

Sans gave her an appreciative but unsmiling nod. “Ya gotta admit, it’ll be a lot easier to blend in that way. _We_ don’ care what it looks like, but…”

“He,” Frisk corrected him, with a firmness that surprised even her. “I’d rather have a boy.”

Undyne didn’t have lips, but her mouth made a thoughtful shape as she nodded. “Either way, congrats. Can’t wait to see how he turns out!” She turned on her heel and raised her voice: “Right, Your Majesty?”

Sans moved protectively in front of Frisk as the door creaked, as though someone on the other side had opened it just enough to eavesdrop. A very long moment later, it swung wide open to frame Toriel’s face as she leaned out, her head drooping, dark circles showing beneath her dull eyes. She took in the tense, silent boss monster, and the tiny human behind him. “Please come in,” she said tonelessly. Her head eased back into the house, and the door shut behind it.

The jovial mood was gone. Undyne turned and grabbed Papyrus’ arm in passing, towing him behind her up the steps. Sans knelt to smooth Frisk’s hair back. “You gonna be okay, sweetheart?”

Frisk shrugged. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Silence. It was hard to say if he leaned down first, or if she rose on tiptoe, but a moment later, her arms were around his neck and his hand was supporting her back, almost lifting her off her feet. Frisk felt her heart slow a little as she rubbed her cheek on his vertebrae, fear seeping away and determination welling up in its place; she pulled back and let him rest his enormous forehead against hers. “C’mon,” murmured Sans.

She released him, and he stood up to offer his hand again. Frisk looked at it for a moment, reflecting on a chapter in her life ending with one last suitor, and a new one opening with him by her side. Then she allowed him to guide her up the stairs, and they entered the house together, closing the door gently behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are now up to Part 4 of the [Songfell dramatic reading](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c1yeE_UGUeY&t=13s) on YouTube, hard at work on Part 5! If you are an artist and would like to help speed up the process and also earn a bit of $, please email samples to theunderpuppets@gmail.com for great justice.


End file.
